#remember how I said I can’t remember exact quotes but I know what I felt when I read it

[starlooove]

Ok i know so many of these characterizations are just the politics of the times bleeding through but smth about white ass tim Drake talkin bout some “they’re hurting their own people with gang business instead of elevating them” is so funny

[ktempestbradford]

There is so much to talk about with this article. So much. In this post I want to focus on a specific part of it: the reactions of Lindelof and Cuse to what the writers and actors experienced. Here are several quotes [emphasis mine].

“What can I say? Other than it breaks my heart that that was Harold [Perrineau's] experience,” replied Lindelof, who said he did not recall “ever” saying that. “And I’ll just cede that the events that you’re describing happened 17 years ago, and I don’t know why anybody would make that up about me.”

Lindelof told me he didn’t remember any negative incident with an editor, adding that he seeks out input from collaborators and that he’s “never threatened anyone’s career.” Lindelof also said he had no recollection of anything Hsu Taylor said about events connected to “Ab Aeterno.” He said she was a “great writer who executed at a high level” and he’s “stricken” that she was made to feel the way she felt at that time.

Regarding the other allegations leveled at him and the show, Lindelof said he had no memory of the incidents and comments I related. He told me he was “shocked and appalled and surprised” by the incidents I described to him, and said more than once that he did not think anyone was making anything up. “I just can’t imagine that Carlton would’ve said something like that, or some of those attributions, some of those comments that you [shared]—I’m telling you, I swear, I have no recollection of those specific things. And that’s not me saying that they didn’t happen. I’m just saying that it’s literally baffling my brain—that they did happen and that I bore witness to them or that I said them. To think that they came out of my mouth or the mouths of people that I still consider friends is just not computing.”

I'm not going to quote Cuse's responses here because they all boil down to: "I don't remember doing/saying that" or "Nuh uh, that didn't happen!" which is... certainly a choice.

You're going to see a bunch of people siding with and empathizing with Lindelof and praising him for saying that what happened was wrong, etc., and I will push back every time I see it because of all those instances of him saying he doesn't recall and doesn't remember. I don't think he's lying. I do think it's indicative of an ongoing problem with him as a writer and showrunner and it needs to be called out.

I'm going to tell you a story that explains my point. Also putting it and my conclusions under a cut as this is long. Please do read.

Many years ago I became friends with a white woman writer in the SFF community who lived in NYC during some of the time I did. She knew many of the writers and editors in our community who also lived in NYC or nearby. At the time, the majority of these editors were white and most were men. She became particularly friendly with some of them.

A couple of years into our relationship we were at ReaderCon together. One day at the hotel bar I was sitting with this woman (we'll call her Karen for the purposes of this story) and two other BIPOC male authors who had both published multiple books at this point and were people that Karen felt were impressive and important. During the conversation someone (probably me?) brought up the online conversations/debates/fights currently happening about representation in the SFF genre and the way certain editors were part of the problem. I want to say this was even before RaceFail happened.

Karen revealed that she'd been talking to important people like Gordon van Gelder about the things I'd been saying online and how, well... the things I was saying were just crazy. Crazy things! I was acting so crazy.

I don't remember the exact phrasing, but I remember the repeated categorizing of me/my words as Crazy.

I also don't remember exactly what I said in response. I do remember how I felt in my body at that moment. I was suddenly flooded with, I think, adrenaline or something and I wanted to run away because otherwise I was going to start throwing things. I couldn't believe this person, who claimed to be my friend, was saying this to me.

I also remember that I felt trapped because I was in a booth and the two other writers were on either side of me so I couldn't just get up and leave. It turned out I didn't need to do that. Because immediately both of them were like: Hold up. Hold the EFF up.

They both pointed out to Karen that the things I brought up in those online discussions were real issues that did need addressing and that I wasn't crazy and the only reason she thought so was because I was a Black woman and when white people or even people perceived as being white said the same thigs I did, people in the community listened, so what the heck was even wrong with her.

I just sat there, pretty quiet, still trying to calm myself down while this all happened and also felt so very grateful for how these two guys (also friends) stood up for me without hesitating, without equivocating, without giving Karen an inch to continue to talk about me in such a way. I don't even know how that conversation ended or if I even talked to Karen again at the con. I did decide right then that I was going to pull back from our friendship because of it.

A year or so later I ended up having to have a conversation with Karen because of some nonsense she pulled at WisCon. In that conversation I mentioned the discussion we had at ReaderCon and how that truly affected my view of her, a person who was supposedly my friend and who constantly tried to say she was an ally to BIPOC. And that's when she said: What discussion?

At first I wasn't sure if she was feigning ignorance or not. The more we talked, the more I realized she wasn't. She didn't remember the incident. And in that talk I realized why: It didn't have that big of an impact on her.

Even with her being essentially told off by the other two, for her, having conversations where she casually parroted some white, male editor's racist and misogynistic view of me was of little note because she and the other people she spent a majority of time with were doing it all the time. It was just a Tuesday for her. And so after ReaderCon when she continually asked if I wanted to hang out or go on writing dates, she did so as if she had not said some absolutely egregious stuff to me weeks before. Again, to her: a Tuesday.

Having had more experience in life with certain kinds of racists, sexists, ableists, and bigots in general, I can say that this phenomenon was not specific to Karen. It is endemic with a certain kind of person who is devoted to the status quo/dominant paradigm.

So when Lindelof says that he doesn't remember doing and saying these things, he's probably not lying. Because for him, it was business as usual, a Tuesday. Normalized on a number of levels. He was a fish in water and the water was composed of racist, sexist a-holes doing whatever they wanted because no one above them put a stop to it. And that is a problem even 20ish years later.

That Lindelof had to be told he did these things and that he, in all this time, has not reflected on them, not realized on his own that what he did was terrible, apologized, and worked his butt off to not only ensure the shows he runs do not have this atmosphere but to also throw every bit of work that he can to those writers (not necessarily on his shows, but others) is proof that it continues to be a problem. And that he has a lot of work to do to atone for all these things he can't remember--starting by doing a real deep dive into why he can't.

Cuse can't be saved. I suggest we introduce him to a nice oubliette.

[mischiefnevermanaged89-blog]

Gotta Be Somebody-part4

Angel Reyes X Reader

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Angel

My time spent with (Y/N) had been the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. She has started to become my best friend. I could tell her everything without judgment. Our mornings were becoming routine with breakfast and morning quotes. She was the most beautiful in the mornings when I’d go to her place.

The feelings inside me that she had stirring were new to me and that scared the shit out of me. The moment I walked into her apartment and I seen her dancing around to her favorite Nickleback song, it instantly became mine. I knew I had to do something, so when she left to meet Marcus, I went to the one place I knew I’d get some answers.

“Pop! You home?”

“In here, son.”

I walked into the kitchen, kissing my hand and touching Ma’s urn on the way.

“Angel. What brings you by?”

I sighed as I sat at the table. “I got a problem, Pop, and I don’t know what to do.”

“You okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. You remember (Y/N) Losa?”

Pop smiled. “I see.” He said smiling.

“What’s that mean?”

“Tell me what troubles you?”

“I don’t know, Pop. I’ve been with her almost every day for the last few months and it’s like I think about her every minute I’m not with her. I got these feelings and I don’t know what they are. She means everything to me. I can’t wait to see her in the mornings. I go to sleep thinking about her. Even her favorite music has become mine.”

He laughed. “You’re in love, son.”

I scoffed. “No way.”

“You’d do anything to protect her right? Do anything she’d ask of you?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Couldn’t picture your life without her anymore?”

That’s when it hit me. Pop was right. “No. I couldn’t.”

“The way you feel about her is the exact way I felt about your mother.” He chuckled. “She’d be so happy her baby had found him somebody to love. She always wanted that for you. She always knew you’d find somebody. She never worried about you like that. Always knew you’d find your way. That’s why she didn’t worry much when you were growing up. She knew one day you would be a man she could be proud of.”

It was my turn to chuckle. “(Y/N) said almost the same thing when I told her about mom and growing up. Said mom doted on EZ because she knew how he’d turn out, but never worried about me.” I looked at Pop. “She’s special, Pop.”

“I know, son. Don’t let her go. She’s brought out something in you I haven’t seen in a long time.”

My phone vibrated with a text from Bishop saying Templo. I said goodbye to Pop and headed for the clubhouse. As soon as I got there I was hit with questions.

“Prospect! Have you seen (Y/N) today?” Bishop asked.

I shook my head. “Not since I checked in on her this afternoon. Said it was her off day and she was going to stay home and clean. I just left from seeing my pops. I haven’t seen her since.”

He nodded. I went inside and started stocking beer in the fridge. Everyone started piling in not long after. (Y/N) and Alvarez were the last to arrive. She looked at me with a smile, one I returned.

“Prospect, come on. You’ll want to be in on this, too.” Alvarez waved me into Templo with them.

I was confused when he called me in, even more so when (Y/N) followed in behind. I stood to the side after everyone sat around the table. I looked to (Y/N) who looked so damn calm and collected standing at the head of the table between Alvarez and Bishop.

“Can I ask why you have my daughter and the prospect in here Padrino?” Bishops asked.

“As you all know, Galindo is having problems with the anarchist group running in Mexico. They’ve come to believe it’s being led by a woman. Any transports being made have been stopped and sabotaged and everyone killed. (Y/N) and I just had a meeting with Galindo.”

She nodded and stood at the table. “Galindo explained that they wanted someone to infiltrate this group. Get on the inside, find out how they are working, where they will strike next and eventually take them out.” She looked to Bishop. “I know you run for the Galindo cartel papa. It’s only a matter of time before her group realizes this and strikes you all and I cannot let that happen.”

Bisphop went red. Everyone went red. We all knew what that meant.

“No. Hell fucking no, hija! I will not allow you to do this.” He banged his fist on the table.

“It’s been decided, papa. I accepted Galindo’s deal. In a few days time, I’ll will gain access in and earn her trust and feed intel back until the time is right.”

“And what is it you will have to do?” I spoke up, all eyes turning to me, even her (y/e/c) bore into mine.

“When the time is right, I’ll have to kill her.”

“Ah hell nah. Chica! You cannot do this! You’re not a killer. I’ve been there. Killing someone changes you. I don’t want that for you.” Coco pointed around the table. “We don’t want that for you.”

“It’s not for you to decide!” She yelled, banging her fists on the table, her actions mimicking Bishop’s. “I have decided. I’m doing this. For Primo, papa, Taza, Riz, Creep, Hank, Coco, Gilly, Angel.” She looked at each and every one of us.

“For the last twenty two years you have each been in my life, some longer than others. For twenty two years I’ve called you each my uncle or brother. I will not get a call one day that every man in my life for the last twenty two years is dead because some perra has a vendetta against their boss and took it out on them. I will not do it. Even if Galindo has made a very generous payout for me for each intel and the endgame, I’m doing it for my family.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “With or without your support, I will be doing this. Papa, I love you, so much, please, understand why Marcus and I went to Galindo and understand why I have to do this. You’re all I have and all I’ll ever need. Please?”

Bishop sighed and dropped his head. He stood and grabbed her in his arms and we could all see his shoulders shake from crying. Father and daughter held each other for a few moments. Bishop turned around to face everyone.

“Okay. It’s been decided. (Y/N) will do this. We will support her. I trust Padrino and if he says Galindo can be trusted with her and this, then I can’t argue. Nobody is to argue. We will stick to whatever plan they have for us.”

My heart sank. This woman that I just learned I love is about to throw her self into danger for her family. Why the hell am I finding myself loving her even deeper?

I watched everyone walk out and I followed behind, going to the bar to pass out beer to them. I watched (Y/N) walk outside; Bishop nodding to me to follow her. I nodded back and took a couple beer with me.

“Hey, (Y/N/N).”

She looked up at me, a small smile on her face. “Hey, A.”

I handed her the beer. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going to happen with all of this, but I want you to know that as your best friend, I’m here. No matter what.”

She chuckled. “Thanks, Angel. That means a lot.”

“I’m serious. I know shits about to get serious soon. I just want you to know that when you’re out there, if you can, I’m right there. I’ll be a quick hello away. Even if you want to hear a quick good morning quote or just me to say your name. I’m here, Cariño.”

There it was. That beautiful fucking smile I lived for every damn day. She always saved that smile for me. She scooted closer to me and wrapped her arms around mine and laid her head on my shoulder and sipped her beer. I kissed the top of her head, closing my eyes, wishing this moment didn’t have to end, because I knew in a few days time, I didn’t know when I’d see her again.

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

@ravennaortiz

In the words of my 9year old daughter…

[sesamestreep]

Matt/Foggy, 36

From this Spotify Wrapped Prompt Game: #36. Made You Look - Meghan Trainor (🫣 I am not immune to a viral tiktok audio earworm…)

“Are you capable of exercising any self-control at all?” Foggy asks, voice dripping with annoyance as it carries across the room.

“I—” Matt pauses, as he tries to figure out the right response to that question. “I’m literally just sitting here,” he finally offers, weakly, because it definitely sounds like he’s in trouble, he’s just not sure why.

“I know that,” Foggy says, coming back to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m talking about what happened last night.”

“I was under the impression that you enjoyed what happened last night.”

“Matt…”

“In fact, I distinctly remember asking if you were enjoying yourself and you said—”

“You don’t need to quote me,” Foggy says, evidently excited or embarrassed by the memory—or both. “I remember.”

“Well, then, I’m confused by your sudden change of heart.”

“Not a change of heart,” Foggy clarifies and Matt is very often thankful that Foggy can’t hear his heartbeat and now is one such moment, because the way it immediately calms down from relief is genuinely a little embarrassing and he’s glad no one else has to know about it. “Just confronting the very frustrating reality that I’m going to have to do the walk of shame in a shirt open to my navel because someone tore half the buttons off of it in his haste to get me undressed. Again.”

Matt shrugs, very deliberately casual now that he knows this isn’t a real argument. “It felt like an urgent matter at the time.”

“Matt, I don’t even know where any of the buttons ended up!”

“Thank God. It’d be really embarrassing if you’d had the presence of mind to keep track of that while I was…well, you know.”

“I don’t know why you can’t just unbutton my shirt patiently like a grownup,” Foggy complains, which is the exact opposite of what he was doing last night, but Matt doesn’t bring that up.

“I don’t know why you insist on wearing those fancy suits with like eighteen layers I have to go through,” Matt says, instead. “Getting you naked is like breaking into a Swiss bank.”

“They’re three piece suits, you infant,” Foggy retorts, laughing. “And I’ve been told by everyone on Earth except you that I look great in them.”

“I’m sure you do. But for my purposes, they’re a nuisance.”

“You’re a philistine, Matthew. And I’m going to tell Luke that you don’t appreciate well made clothing and get you on his bad side for all eternity.”

“Please don’t,” Matt says, grabbing Foggy’s wrist like he might go for his phone right away. The downside of meeting Luke through Foggy is that he always has this extremely viable threat in his back pocket. “You have no idea how hard it is to find a good tailor these days.”

“Oh, I’m intimately aware,” Foggy cries, and there’s a shuffling noise as he (Matt’s guessing) shakes his injured shirt at him. “And speaking of Luke, you can’t claim my clothes are a nuisance to get out of when you run around in your leather daddy body armor all the time. There’s just no comparison!”

Matt doesn’t point out that he rarely shows up to see Foggy in the suit because it usually ends in them arguing rather than fucking—or, at least, arguing for a while before they get around to fucking. That’s not going to win him any points at the moment, he imagines.

“Leather daddy?” he asks, incredulously, instead.

“God, shut up,” Foggy says, still embarrassed and excited about it.

Matt takes the shirt out of Foggy’s hands, gently, and then, not so gently, shucks it to the other side of the room. “Maybe I just like who you are under your clothes more,” he says, carefully. “Did you ever think of that?”

“You’re so full of shit,” Foggy says, and, Matt’s not really sure how, but his voice fully gives away that he’s blushing.

“You could borrow something of mine…”

Foggy snorts. “Yeah, I don’t think you have anything in my size here, sweetheart.”

Matt lets his hand trail up Foggy’s side. “Oh, well. Hot guy in a tight t-shirt. What a sad fate for all of us to endure.”

“That gimmick only works when it’s guys like you. On me, it’ll just look delusional.”

Matt frowns, not liking the sound of that one bit. He slips his hand around the back of Foggy’s neck and pulls him close until their foreheads are pressed together, relieved by how easily Foggy complies despite his purported annoyance.

“Then it looks like your only option is to stay here forever,” Matt says, solemnly. “Completely naked, of course.”

“Of course,” Foggy says, laughing softly. “It’s the only plan that makes sense.”

“I’m glad we’re in agreement,” Matt replies, leaning in to kiss him. He conveniently doesn’t mention that he has one sweater, three sweatshirts, and no less than five t-shirts that he’s stolen from Foggy that he could just as easily return to him and solve his current predicament. He likes his solution better.

[amuseoffyre]

Good Omens thoughts in summary

On the whole, I’m happy with it. Won’t mind watching it again and again, definitely.

The Good:

Michael and David entirely loving their characters and each other and bringing that to life so wonderfully. The bickering and sniping and affection made me so happy

The entire Job storyline making it clear that God is as arbitrary and as indifferent to humanity and their suffering as Heaven, but Aziraphale still can’t see it because God still talks to Job when She long since stopped talking to the angels

All the tasty juicy parallels running all over the place - the realisation that actually, no Nina isn’t the grumpy signifier for Crowley, she’s the Aziraphale trapped in a toxic and controlling relationship but staying because it’s her partner and she feels she has to? And Maggie being the signifier for Crowley, the one who isn’t afraid of hard work and who will be brave and wait for the one they love?

The entire score - David Arnold is a master with his music and he inflicts musical pain so beautifully.

the sneaky little hints of Crowley’s angelic history

The ending. I know I’m probably in a minority, but I legit love that Aziraphale is still doing what he believes is the right thing to protect the world and Crowley. As Crowley said “whether it’s Hell or Heaven that destroys it, it will still be dead” and Aziraphale standing at that lift and pulling on his game face because he knows The Big One is coming. Crowley knew there would be another apocalypse, he warned him about it at the end of S1. Aziraphale’s been afraid of it for so long because he fears losing Crowley and the world. If Crowley was on the same side as him, he would have some level of protection, but even if Crowley won’t go with him, he will go to the place he fears and dislikes because if he’s not there to try and change things, who will?

the Metatron being a shady shady bitch. After all, he can’t have an angel and a demon who can summon up the power in excess of the Supreme Archangel working together when Heaven has plans in motion.

Aziraphale being a precious wee bean when it comes to looking after Maggie, purely because he likes his records.

A/C and their respective perspectives of what makes things romantic and trying to make Romance Happen. It’s also such a useful little reminder that Free Will is a thing. “we’re not toys for you to play with”.

Jim. I loved seeing how the lads interacted with him, but also how his behaviour changed and developed the more time he spent around them. Not to mention the fact that even with his memory gone, Gabriel instinctively knew Aziraphale was someone who would protect him because Aziraphale is the Guardianist Guardian to ever Guardian.

The Meh:

I am fully indifferent to the Nazi zombies. It felt pointless and was much too much unnecessary gore and time spent on body humour and body horror. Furfur could have done it solo. We could have had more of the magic act. But instead we get excessive time dedicated to lurching zombies who pretty much did bugger all aside from pull faces.

Too many new and random side characters and not enough time for them all. Some parts felt a bit scattered because there were just so many little things happening.

Beez and Gabe felt rushed. I know it was the undercurrent of the whole series, but cramming the big reveal into 5 minutes with barely hints earlier felt a bit much.

Otherwise, I know that much of this was set-up for S3. There is so much significance to the fact that all three of the flashbacks relate to times when people/bodies came back from the grave. I can’t remember Jim’s exact quote, but he cited something that I think is from Revelation about the dead rising and that is entirely fodder for S3.

[goldrushenthusiast]

Analysis on Sejanus, and a bit his relationship with Coriolanus, as requested by @mym00nagedaydr3am

First off- Sejanus. Sejanus is (in my opinion) one of the most unpredictable characters in the book, because he doesn’t know what matters to him (at a personal level), and he truly has no real sense of self. 

One easy assumption about him would be that he is loyal, but is he? Sejanus calls him and Coriolanus brothers, even going as far as to use a childhood nickname on him, then correlates with the enemy and plans against the capitol. There is so much to unpack just there. 

I believe Sejanus definitely did care about Coriolanus. When Coriolanus told him he saw him as a brother, I think Sejanus believed that and felt at least a bit the same level of closeness. But Sejanus is more surface level than puppy dog eyes. 

One part that sticks out to me is Sejanus calling Coriolanus “Coryo” after nearly getting him killed in the arena. The exact quote is; “’I’m so sorry Coryo.’ said Sejanus. ‘So sorry.’ 

Coryo was a nickname for old friends. For family. For people Coriolanus loved. And this was the moment Sejanus decided to try it out?” 

I don’t think Sejanus used this accidentally, but I also don’t think Sejanus understood Coriolanus well enough to understand how he’d react to that. Remember, Sejanus sees Coriolanus as the boy who gave him gumdrops when everyone else made fun of him. Coriolanus was the boy saving him seats during class, and deflecting negative attention from him. Sejanus does not see the manipulative and regretful of that side of Coriolanus.

This side of Coriolanus is shown in the next part of that quote, saying “If Coriolanus had the energy, he would have reached over and strangled him.” That is who Coriolanus is. Sejanus can’t see that.

Sejanus also has no personal loyalties. He is most definitely not loyal to the capitol, though Coriolanus describes him as having his loyalties still lying in district two. But Sejanus moved to the capitol as a kid. Nearly everyone treated him badly. Why would he like that? But a place where his family lived, (even if they all cut him off) sounds so appealing to him because he never had any family but Ma. He creates a loyalty for himself, not because of personal connection, but out of an urge to find something about him that is not not understandable. I think he also created it, in the beginning, to get back at his father for bringing him to the capitol in the first place.  

Sejanus also finds rebels within the first month of being in district 12. Even Coriolanus doesn’t know how he does it- because Sejanus lied to him. His “brother,” and the person he felt close enough with to call him Coryo. That’s something to consider. 

That’s on what matters to him, and a bit about how he makes up his own self. 

How does this make him unpredictable? Because we already know he is. This is an explanation as to why he is, not a justification or a theory. Surprise!

Sejanus constantly preaches peace. He doesn’t want the Hunger Games, he doesn’t want what would happen without them, and he doesn’t want any violence or fighting at all. He detests Dr. Gaul for this reason. 

But what does Sejanus also do? He supports, helps, and participates in schemes with the same rebels who killed 3 innocent people. All to stop the capitol, no? But he still does. And he does nothing when Coriolanus kills Mayfair, nor when he himself is mixed up in that crowd. 

He looks into buying HIMSELF, and other rebels guns, despite not wanting to use them. There is no other purpose to guns than violence. He makes himself seem bad with guns, then to turn around and do this? 

Sejanus is classified by much of the fandom, and even a bit by Coriolanus and Suzanne Collins as an honest, slightly goofy boy who just wants what is right, and is a bit misguided. Sejanus is so much more layered. He isn’t even honest. 

He certainly does make you think so, though. He knows the dangers of speaking against the capitol, he knows what it all means, yet continuously opposes the Hunger Games, in front of very important people. He acts and speaks “without thinking” but he does think. He thinks of his going into the arena as an act of rebellion, and he shares that with Coriolanus. He thinks of his buying guns as supporting the rebels as yet another act of rebellion, and considers himself good at covering it up. He helps Billy Taupe, knowing he is the enemy of Coriolanus (further reinforcing how he didn’t really see him as a brother, or on the same level as one) and the police. He has nowhere near the same family values as other characters, so how would he realize how in danger he puts everyone close to him in? 

Not to mention, he brought thousands of dollars to District 12. We don’t know why, but it’s easy to assume a rebel cause. He definitely thought of that! And when talking about money with his bunk mates, he agrees that there is not a penny between them. This is what makes even Coriolanus suspicious. 

Now, I did not write this to make everyone hate him, nor do I think of Sejanus as cold and calculated. I truly do believe he wanted the (objectively) right things. But I do think he is more surface level than what the fandom typically portrays him as. I think that he thinks more than we think he does, and that he is very smart. 

I came off a bit more harsh and accusing in this than I wanted to, but sides could still be argued for both extremes of him. Something I didn’t bring up was Sejanus mouthing “Coryo” before dying, and screaming Ma when he did. I think Sejanus realized his faults and was asking Ma for forgiveness and apologizing to her then, and that the Coryo thing was a question. Not an accusation, but a question. That, or a warning. This could honestly be evidence for both sides of him, but I don’t think there is enough context to decide.

In conclusion, I don’t think we give Sejanus enough credit. But I also don’t think we should give him more. He is quite unpredictable, and for the above reasons. He would not have made it far into adulthood, and if he did, I think Coriolanus would have made sure it wasn’t for long. 

[ethernetmeep]

inevitably, tomorrow will have a cascade of fireworks boom & whirr in the air. afterwards, throughout the entire summer, i will continue to hear these fireworks. somewhere. simply waiting. they come and go in random influxes, miscellaneous moments.

if it isn’t apparent already, i won’t be celebrating— why would i? what is there to celebrate about this flawed, fucked up country? i can remember when i used to, though. one year in particular pops up rather vividly

cannot remember the exact time frame, but i was young. six? six or seven. visited an aunt, drove all the way up there. remember getting stung by a horsefly, exclaiming i quote, “didn’t want this portuguese blood anymore!” with portuguese being exclaimed as port-ee-gee. mother says it this way, sometimes. i now realize its more so favorable blood types than exact nationalities… regardless, a memory that my mother finds humorous.

in retrospect, even then i was.. odd. off. although my mother exclaimed the other kids were simply jerks, it felt a bit more than that. recall diving in a pool to then have everyone, yes, everyone, leave afterwards. this cycle continued, never-ending, nobody wanting to be even remotely around me. i don’t take it personally now, but at the time i was immensely emotionally upset over it. remember her yellow swings & those crackling items which i can’t recall the name of. snappers? something similar. recall sticks you’d snap to get the fluorescent light really glowing. bubbles. cold.

i don’t miss her, i don’t think. i don’t really think about anyone from that day, only see them as humanoid blobs with their features crossed out. i was never close to them, never connected. a black sheep before i knew what it was.

its interesting, this feels as if it will be similar to new years although i am unsure how. the same solitude, i believe. with new years, it was (at the very least) a drunken stupor— better, at that. although fantasy, at least i was happy in my delusions. all temporary.

now, i will be alone, no unnecessary items at my disposal. i would say vices, but it was never a vice— never enjoyed alcohol, merely let myself be apart of it. i will be left with my thoughts is a better way to put it. many of my friends will be busy; if not, family activities which celebrate. a nauseating array of bold red whites & blues. barbecues… all that. i don’t wish to be apart of it

what i want, i think, is this— and i will describe it rather vividly to showcase what it is i truly desire

the set ‘golden hour’ of the day begins anew. mosquitos are flying about, yet the body itself is simply.. sitting. laying? could be doing both. sitting in a front lawn & looking at the possible clouds above. basking in the ambient noise of birdsong & wind. no other acquaintances, except for if there is. if there is, which is now leading into fantasy, i will act the same as i do in solitude. i will be quiet. we will sit & watch the clouds or sit & look at bugs. i will pluck a weed & offer it silently, or i will pluck a small flower from a hydrangea plant in our yard & offer it. it is not an act of romance; it never would be. an act of compassion despite the worlds’ cruelty. we will be silent, simply existing. in a perfect world, the yard would be adorned with dandelions & i could make my guest a flower crown. i don’t know how to do that, so i won’t. i won’t do much of anything. i will offer to sit & watch birds fly at bird feeders & try to showcase the beauty there is to see in the world. if i do speak, it will be something small— a simple “thank you for spending time with me” is enough.

of course, mere delusion. like i said, most friends will be busy, some not but being simply unable to be apart of this. i love some of my friends to death, but they cannot be silent like this for the life of them. my childhood friend, appreciate him dearly, cannot participate in this. he will presumably be bored & want to talk or spend most of the time showing me funny me-mes (spelt that way specifically). the beauty will be clouded by a rift which i dislike admitting. this is fine, but it simply shows we are different people. different at different times, more so. it is simply unlikely to occur, is all im saying

despite its uncommon chances, i do hope it can happen. someday.

for now, i can only presume the day will be like any other— i won’t even see it as a holiday. its funny, i didn’t even know fathers day was fathers day— nor easter, or whatever it is thats celebrated. i don’t pay attention to most holidays.

ah, i can only wish my friends & acquaintances alike well. you too, dear reader. stay safe, you all.

[wistfulwisp]

Now my thoughts for the ending of the second season of good omens, some thoughts on some of the theories that have cropped up:

-dudes this part is gonna be entirely incomprehensible

-what the HELL? What the hell

-I shall never emotionally recover from this

-I’ve thought about this for two months straight

-how can I quote this word for word but not remember anything from my classes at all

-…

Okay, so here’s the thing is that I can’t really say anything about this that hasn’t already been said, like yeah the acting is great, yeah the kiss is great, yeah the subtlety allows for ambiguity and I’m an absolute FAN of ambiguity, it’s all great. Yes, it’s tragic. But… it makes for a really great story!

I think that the way things went makes complete sense for both of these characters and fits their narrative and inner struggles entirely. It felt like being punched in the solar plexus (and again, and again, for two months now). Here’s my interpretation:

I think it’s entirely within Aziraphale’s character to say yes to an offer to become an archangel even if that means leaving Crowley behind. He’s a child! Of abuse! Of a long line of being told that being obedient to heaven is the only right way to go! He literally started CRYING at one single lie he told heaven earlier in the season, even though no one knew about it and it didn’t change the outcome of literally anything. Crowley also isn’t… particularly helpful in this journey A is going on to break away from heaven’s grasp. He challenges A for sure and gives him a pathway to continue down this breaking away, but Crowley has been anti-heaven and anti-hell from the beginning. Not that it’s been easy for him, but the point is that after being abandoned for so long A is being given a sliver of affection, and of course he’s gonna go back. Of course he’s gonna believe he can make a difference — Crowley’s shown him that there’s something on this planet worth protecting! That’s so howl-core of him babes!

Anyways. I’m gonna lose my mind. All I’m saying is that it says a lot about us, that we’d all so easily be attached to the coffee theory. It’s easier to accept that a beloved character is being brainwashed to perform some tragic act, and is more difficult to accept that it’s entirely within his character to do something like that. Almost like how A and C believe that love should be as easy as a Jane Austen-esque ball or a sudden rainstorm forcing people beneath a canopy? You know there’s no Richard Curtis films with that scenario right? 😂 sometimes it’s harder to accept that things are just complicated.

Now, the big thing I’ve seen portrayed as a response to this scene is “wow Crowley is really putting himself out there and he’s such a hero and like he’s really expressing his feelings and Aziraphale sucks because he’s just all gungho about going to heaven” listen! I love Crowley and seeing him almost cry made me want to bury myself alive. But! What he wants is a perfect world, where he and A can run off together without Heaven or Hell. Where would they go? For how long could they avoid being seen by either party? Legit not very long. Crowley’s perspective reminisces with us because it’s what we want to see happen, and in connecting with that sometimes we fail to realize that the world we want doesn’t exist! His solution is very much to run away from his issues — I mean, we’ve seen this exact same scenario twice now. The only difference is now, he’s running towards something, not away from it, and that connects with us more. Even if what he wants can’t exist without some sort of long-term plan that he doesn’t have.

My big interpretation of it is that 1. Aziraphale is going to Heaven because he believes in the world that Crowley formed for him: a world in shades of grey. I think he believes that he can change things from the inside out (I disagree with this as a viewer but whatever) because Crowley showed him that a world like that can exist. 2. I think he tried to convince Crowley to become an angel isn’t because he doesn’t like that he’s a demon BUT I think there’s a small part of him that believes that this is the only way they can be together. He’s a child of abuse! And he legit just talked about demons (generally not Crowley specifically) being the bad guys. I don’t think this is a huge factor, the BIGGER factor is because he LOVES Crowley and believes this is a way for them to continue to be together. 3. Crowley definitely interprets all of this as A would rather go to heaven than be with him. Like that’s where his line of trauma comes from! He was abandoned by everyone that he trusted (the almighty, angels in general, now Aziraphale) and now he’s kind of left to his own devices in a world that he only loved with Az. I don’t know what the future holds or what the exact intention was behind these moments but that’s how I interpret it.

Also all of the “he didn’t know he was starving” memes can go away quietly and let me weep. Imagine that but with Crowley being held or hugged by someone that loves him for the first time I can’t

[filthforfriends]

I created my tumblr as a platform to dump my writing and fan edits, but also as a place where I didn’t have to filter myself. My mental health is so fragile that when something happens to me everyone wants to go straight to fixing it and skip the “wow that sucks” stage. However I’ve learned that feeling my anger is important because for so long my mother filled up all that space emotionally. Here I I can rant and rage and not worry about concealing anything. People whose names I don’t know not only validated my experiences, but often share them or at least understand them in a way that comes with tremendous empathy. But for the first time I’ve paused and I’ve concealed and I’ve questioned whether or not I should post this.

My life is no longer garden variety sucky things took a really disturbing turn just after Christmas. But there are still a variety of reasons I want to post this, mainly I don’t know how to feel or react. Maybe someone else has endured something this violating and humiliating but shoved it way down and felt alone. God knows I share those actions.

If you click beyond this point you’re agreeing that you’re at least in your 20s, mentally stable, and understand that what follows is megafucked

My mom is a published author. I was discouraged from reading her work because it was as very “adult” but at age 15 I snuck a peak on a story that I realized it was not so loosely based on my brother. I know she wrote about her life experiences through the lens of her narcissism and called it fiction, but I thought that the much of her stories was still made up.

So I’m visiting family over the holidays and my cousin whom I haven’t talked to since 2015 could tell that a book my mom published in 2019 was very clearly about me and non-fiction. He said that he tried to read the book but “there was just something about it he didn’t like.” It gave me a strange feeling so I read the short story.

It was absolutely not fictionalized at all. The character had a different name but the story contained my exact medical information, exact dates reactions happened. Extremely specific descriptions of my medical issues, many of which were mental.

There’s no question I should have been taken to a child psychologist. By the age of four I’d developed panic disorder, OCD, attachment disorder, and suicidal tendencies. I was not a happy child I was in constant fear and my mom used every detail of this because my story was compelling. I really can’t stress enough that she changed nothing but my name.

She documented exactly what I said during panic attacks that ruined my life. She documented what I said after attempting to drown myself. When they brought me to a therapist she documented how I behaved in the sessions, what I said, what the therapist said. My mother takes a journal with her everywhere and journals in the morning and evening.

She took all these direct quotes and described my every trauma response and brush with death in the first five years of my life. Confidential, highly specific, private information and she got it published and distributed nationally. I helped her do press on that book because I didn’t know. Now all these people know the most intimate details of my excruciating childhood.

I can only assume she did the same with her last book which several of my high school teachers read because they were her graduate students. She wrote the recommendation letters that helped them get that teaching position. My mother is a respected tenured professor at the university in our city. I cannot exaggerate how trapped I feel right now.

Eden, that sucks but it isn’t disturbing. This is me giving you another chance to scroll.

I found out from reading this non fiction “fiction” about my childhood that I was molested. By my mother. She wrote about molesting me. I had no memory of this particular incidence but I do remember another one like it that I ignored by convincing myself it was an accident. So I know that just like everything else in that story, the molestation did happen. I’ve showed it to a social worker and my therapist who both agree what the scene described.

Absolutely horrifying right? Yeah, especially because it’s on the third page. Especially because she gave this book to every member of my large extended family for Christmas. I can’t believe she allowed me to devote hours to publicity for this book. I got her in a Buzzfeed article. I must look like a imbecile to anyone that attends readings and signing who have read the book themselves.

My working theory is that my mother was just doing to me what was done to her by multiple men in her childhood. I don’t think she was attracted to me as a child. Because of her narcissism she didn’t consider how I might be affected from these experiments. Of course she hasn’t acknowledged what happened on any level. The scene is phrased as if I wanted what was happening to be which of course I didn’t because I was four.

I think poorly concealing it in a story was some sort of absolution. If people read it and didn’t call her out that would mean she did nothing wrong. Every mental health physician has suspected molestation even after I insisted it didn’t happen. They only asked about the men in my life, but never my mother.

I don’t know how to feel or act or change as a person or think about it or treat it. Has this dictated everything about my relationship with sex? Has it dictated nothing about my relationship with sex? How do I move forward?

[joshuaalbert]

For the ask meme , what about jadzia ?

favorite thing about them

she’s just. genuinely very enjoyable. like I feel like other characters I have more specific things to say about them but she’s literally just very fun to watch I love her beautiful woman weird guy who is also a worm energy. her swagger her panache her power. all the scenes where she’s doing her professional science job and also just saying some vaguely insane shit are important to me. but then like I also think one of the most interesting things in her character was kind of unintentional as they were trying to sort her out where early jadzia was a lot quieter and more serious and theoretically more like she was before joining and then she just kind of evolves into her final form. like I don’t think that was intentional I think they just kinda went hmm this character isn’t working let’s try something else but I think the idea that sometimes it’s this gradual progression towards a balance (in a different way than it is for ezri later as well) is an interesting one.

least favorite thing about them

it’s too easy to talk about tears of the prophets and the whole like “she’s never mentioned that they want kids before now but since they’re killing her off she is now Woman Who Wants A Baby because i guess her death isn’t tragic enough otherwise, and it feels like cheating to talk about how “if worf hadn’t shown up it would’ve been you” (idr if that’s the exact quote and I refuse to look it up but it’s like that) is a horrendous retcon, but holy shit everything that happened at the end of s6 into s7 was like. it’s just so clearly spiteful?? like I’m not breaking new ground here we all know it but god.

also I do think her willingness to just like throw her life away for some random guy she met two days ago is kind of funny but if I knew her in real life it would drive me insane

brOTP

benjamin!! literally just. I mean she has great dynamics with so many people and some of them didn’t even get ruined in s7 but they’re so important to each other both across lifetimes and as sisko and Jadzia Specifically that they gotta take the top spot

OTP

I do like worfzia a lot when they’re written well (90s trek loved the “a relationship can’t be interesting unless they’re fighting about dumb shit all the time” school of thought, and while some of their arguments made sense bc they had conflicting worldviews and experiences and shit that they should reasonably have to struggle to work out, some of them felt like they were more a feature of this). but also kiradax soooo deeply important to me from like late s1 onward and I simply think. what if they were wifes.

nOTP

sigh ok I’m gonna talk about it but just like. I really liked what the julian and jadzia friendship settled into!! she wasn’t into him and he eventually got over it enough that they could become rly good friends!! and like I’ve said this before but I get if he still had lingering feelings ik that doesn’t always just go away but like. to treat it like it was ever remotely mutual is so disingenuous and a disservice to both characters imo

random headcanon

this is really specific but I like to think she kind of loosely keeps in contact with arjin (the trill initiate she was the field docent for) even if he doesn’t go on to be joined. I think it would be nice if they had a little like pen pal mentorship thing going on every so often yknow.

unpopular opinion

it’s funny I feel like there aren’t a lot of wildly differing opinions on jadzia. like generally speaking pretty much everyone thinks she’s enjoyable? I feel like I have seen people say she’s not the best written character and I don’t think they’re Wrong (and i do feel like to a degree they do more interesting trill stuff with ezri) but it also doesn’t. bother me that much in this case tbh.

song i associate with them

I can’t remember who it was anymore but someone mentioned recessional by vienna teng as a kira/jadzia song but after ezri shows up and it’s.

yeah…………..

favorite picture of them

if I don’t talk about rejoined at some point during this I’ll die for real so here it is ⬆️⬆️⬆️ women kiss

[lesfeldickbiblestudy]

  Through the Bible with Les Feldick LESSON 1 * PART 2 * BOOK 79 PART 3 of the MESSIANIC PROPHECIES – PART 2 Psalms 40 and 41 Okay, good to have all of you back from your coffee break. We’re going to pick right up where we left off.  You can go back with me to chapter 40 of Psalms, and then we’ll probably go back up to Hebrews again. Anyhow, for those of you out in television—again, we always want to be reminded that because of your prayers and your financial help, we are reaching more and more people every day.  I’ve said it before on the program.  I never considered myself a soul-winner per se.  I always felt my ministry was primarily to just teach believers.  But, oh, my goodness, you ought to read our mail – how many people will say that for the first time in their life they’ve heard the plan of salvation.  They’ve come into it, and they just rejoice in it.  So that tells us that the Lord is blessing it beyond anything we could have ever dreamed. I don’t know—maybe I’ll take time sometime this afternoon and give a brief explanation of how in the world we ever got on television.  Well, I’m going to tell you right now, it wasn’t my idea, believe me.  But maybe in the next program I’ll take two or three minutes—because it’ll be a long time before the program comes on where we explain all of that (Book 42). Okay, we’re going to keep right on where we left off in that first half hour.  We were in Psalms chapter 40.  One of the Messianic Psalms where David the prophet is actually speaking, many times, the exact words that Christ used—or at least it’s a close explanation of His first advent ministry.  And, you remember, we got down as far as verses 7 and 8 where he said: Psalms 40:7-8 “Then said I, Lo, I come: in the volume of the book it is written of me, 8. I delight to do thy will, O my God: yea, thy law is within my heart.”  Now, let’s go back to Hebrews 10 for just a moment.  I’m afraid I left off a little too quickly when I ran out of time in the last lesson.   So come back with me to Hebrews 10, and then we’ll go back to Psalms. Then we’re going to come back to John’s Gospel.  That’s Bible study. Hebrews chapter 10 verse 9, where Paul is using the exact quote of Psalms chapter 40. Hebrews 10:9 “Then said he, Lo, I come to do thy will, O God.  (Now that’s God the Son speaking to God the Father.) He taketh away the first, that he may establish the second.”  Now you’ve got to remember, Paul, here in the Book of Hebrews—now I recognize some don’t think Paul wrote it. But I’m not going to get all exercised over that.  But nevertheless, I want to point out that whoever wrote it, what is he showing here when “He took away the first that he might establish the second”? What’s he talking about?  Well, the system of Law—sacrifices, Temple worship, and the feast days.  That was all done away with by the work of the cross.  So he says here in verse 9 that “He taketh away the first, (That is the whole system of Law and Temple worship.) that He may establish the second”—which is this Age of Grace. We’re not under Law. We’re under Grace—which most of Christendom still can’t get through their head; but nevertheless, it’s so obvious.  Now in verse 10: Hebrews 10:10 “By the which will (That is the will of God.) we are sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all.”    Now let’s see, we’re going to have another one in maybe the next Psalm, where we have a reference to the fact that He was given a physical body.  All right, stay here in Hebrews 10 for just a little bit. Hebrews 10:10b-11 “…through the offering of the body (the human body) of Jesus Christ once for all.   (Not just once a year.  Not just once every hundred years, but for all eternity.) 11. And every priest (in the old economy)standeth daily ministering and offering oftentimes the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins:” Animals’ blood couldn’t atone for anything.  All right, now verse 12: Hebrews 10:12-13 “But this man, (the man Christ Jesus) after

he had offered one sacrifice for sins for ever, sat down on the right hand of God;  (Now I’m glad I came back, because I wanted you to see verse 13.)  13. From henceforth (That is where He has been positioned ever since His ascension in Acts chapter 1.  He has been seated positionally at the right hand of the Father.) From henceforth (That is from the time that He went back to Glory He is waiting for the day that--) expecting till his enemies (Christ-rejecting mankind, Israel in particular, that they would--) be made his footstool.” Now, what does the footstool imply?  He’s got them under His feet.  They are no longer in a position to resist Him.  He’s ready to come back and exercise His power and His Kingship.    Now let’s go back to Psalms, and we’ll move on—back to Psalms 40, verse 8. Psalms 40:8-10 “I delight to do thy will, O my God: yea, thy law is within my heart. 9. I have preached righteousness in the great congregation: lo, I have not refrained my lips, O LORD, thou knowest. 10. I have not hid thy righteousness within my heart; I have declared thy faithfulness and thy salvation: I have not concealed thy loving kindness and thy truth from the great congregation.”  Who’s the great congregation?  Israel.  The Nation. Now don’t ever forget Romans 15 verse 8.  “Now I say--” Maybe we’d better look at it.  Keep your hand here.  I’m through in Hebrews.  Keep your hand in Psalms 40.  Come back with me to Romans. And if you happen to hit John’s Gospel, put a mark in it; because we’re going to come to it in just a minute.  But here in Romans chapter 15 is a verse that I use over and over because it says it all.  And again, what most of Christendom knows nothing of.  Oh, it’s awful, isn’t it, Charlie, how little people know?  Oh, it’s so sad.  And the Book is here.  They’ve had it for 2,000 years.  And they just don’t know what it says. Romans 15:8a “Now I say that Jesus Christ (Jesus of Nazareth) was (past tense) a minister of the circumcision,…”  Who is the circumcision?  Israel.  That’s who He was a minister to.  Not to the whole world, not up front.  Remember, I’m always reminding people—I’m not saying ever, but up front.  When He made His appearance, it was only to the Nation of Israel.  And it wasn’t until Israel’s rejection that it brought about Salvation for the whole human race.  But keep everything in its order. Romans 15:8b “Now I say that Jesus Christ was a minister of the circumcision for the truth of God, (It was His plan.  It was for His purposes that He came to His own, but His own received him not.  And why did he come?) to confirm the promises made unto (Whom?) the fathers:”  Not to the Gentile world.  He came to the Nation of Israel to fulfill all those Old Testament prophecies. Now if you’ll flip back to Psalms just a minute, then we’re going to jump back up to John’s Gospel.  Now reading verse 9: Psalms 40:9a “I have preached righteousness in the great congregation:…”  In Israel.  For three years He proclaimed who He was and all the promises attendant with faith in Him as the Messiah. Psalms 40:10a “I have not hid thy righteousness within my heart;…”  He declared everything. Psalms 40:11 “Withhold not (Or we would say – do not withhold.) thou thy tender mercies from me, O LORD: let thy lovingkindness and thy truth continually preserve me.” I’m going to stop there, and we’re going to jump up to John’s Gospel. Go to chapter 17.  I think that’s the chapter a lot of people call the high priestly prayer.  I think I’ve almost never used any of this in a previous program.  So I want to take time today.  I didn’t really intend to do this over maybe a minute or two, but I think I should.  John’s Gospel chapter 17 as Jesus is pouring out His heart in prayer. Now always remember, don’t ever forget, that Jesus operated on two levels.  He was totally man.  He was totally God.  He never let them intertwine, but yet He would go from one to the other.  Okay, now the point I want to make—whenever Jesus prayed to the Father, He was not using the Deity side.

  He was using which side?  The human.  When He suffered, He suffered in the human realm.  But His Spirit also suffered in the Godly realm, or the God-realm.  So as you read these, you’ve got to understand that He’s pouring out His heart—as He said in Psalms 40 He would—to God the Father.  But He’s praying from His humanity. John 17:1-2a “These words spake Jesus, and lifted up his eyes to heaven, (So He’s going to be addressing God the Father.  And He said:) Father the hour is come: (Now remember, He’s probably in the Garden, if I’m not mistaken here.) glorify thy Son, that thy Son also may glorify thee. 2. As thou has given him power over all flesh,…”  Now remember who’s speaking.  Jesus of Nazareth, pouring out His heart from the human side, to God the Father. John 17:2 “As thou hast given him power over all flesh, that he (speaking of Himself) should give eternal life to as many as thou (God the Father) hast given him.” Now again, we always have to realize that the work of the Holy Spirit and the Father and the Son all work in consort to open the hearts and minds of lost people to come to faith.  Now remember, we’re dealing primarily with the Nation of Israel. John 17:3a “And this is life eternal,…”  Now you’ve got to remember—oh, just put all these things together.  With the woman at the well—when Jesus was speaking of life-giving water, what kind of a question did that bring out of that woman? Well, this is Jacob’s well.  What’s the matter with this water?  And what did Jesus tell her?  I’m not talking about H2O.  I’m talking about spiritual water—life-giving water; eternal, life-giving water.  Now, it’s the same concept here.  What Jesus is talking about is not physical life, but eternal life. John 17:3 “And this is the life eternal, that they (That is the Nation of Israel.  That’s all He’s concerned about at this point in time.) might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.”  What did God want?  He wanted Israel to understand who this Jesus really was. Now I’m thinking again of something else.  We use it all the time.  Come back.  Keep your hand in John.  Matthew 16 and this is exactly what the Lord had in mind for all of Israel, not just for Peter, but for all Israel.  Matthew 16, you should know these verses by memory.  We use them often enough.  Here, once again, we’re at the end of His three years.  They are about ready to go up to Jerusalem for the Passover and the Crucifixion. But they are up in Northern Israel, so they’re a few days away. Matthew 16:13-14 “When Jesus came into the borders of Caesarea Philippi, (the headwaters of the Jordan River) he asked his disciples, (the Twelve) saying, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am? 14. And they (the Eleven) said, some say that thou art John the Baptist: some Elijah; and others, Jeremiah, or one of the prophets.” Matthew 16:15-16 “He (Jesus) saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am? (And here Peter speaks up.  I don’t think he did in the first guessing of what people thought, but now he does.) 16. And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, (the Messiah, the Promised One, see) the Son of the living God.” Now that’s all Jesus is praying to the Father that Israel would recognize.  Oh, that they could just see who I am!!  But what was their answer?  “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”  See that?  Okay, back to John’s Gospel verse 4. John 17:4-5 “I have glorified thee on the earth: (He’s had His three years of ministry.) I have finished the work which thou gavest me to do. (In other words, to convince Israel who He was, even though He didn’t succeed.  He spent His whole three years.) 5. And now, O Father, glorify thou me with thine own self with the glory which I had with thee before the world (even) was.”  What does that mean?  From eternity past. I asked one of my classes the other night—have you ever, if you wake up in the middle of the night, or if you’re just resting in your easy chair during the day, or you’re out for

a walk, whatever—have you ever stopped to just analyze eternity?  Have you ever stopped to figure out how long back, as well as forward, eternity is?  Well, think about it some time. You can’t get far, because there’s no way we can comprehend forever and ever and ever and ever back.  And ever and ever and ever into the future—we can’t begin.  But see, this is what the Lord Jesus is claiming.  God the Father and God the Son were already together in the eons of past eternity. I just had a thought and I lost it.  I was going to go to another verse with regard to the eternalness of it all.  But maybe it’ll come back.   All right, oh, I know where I was going to go.  Look at verse 5 again. John 17:5 “And now, O Father, glorify me with thine own self with the glory which I had with thee before the world was.” All right, now here’s the thought I want to leave you.  When Christ came to earth, if I understand Scripture correctly, the only thing He laid aside and did not bring with Him was His Glory.  Is that right? I’m going to qualify that.  I’m going to show you in a minute why that was wrong.  Only three men ever got a glimpse of His glory while He was on earth.  What am I talking about?  The Transfiguration.  Yeah, some of you have been with me long enough. Go back to Matthew.  I think it is verse 16 or 17.  This is the kind of a glory that He knew from eternity past.  And you know what?  It’s the kind of a glory we’re going to see when we see Him.  It’s beyond comprehension.  But it was just a little, brief glimpse of His glory.  All right, Matthew—oh, my goodness, I’ve got to go up to the last verse of chapter 16, because I get a lot of questions on this verse. Matthew 16:28 “Verily I say unto you, There be some standing here, which shall not taste of death, till they see the son of man coming in his Kingdom.” What was He talking about?  Well, He was talking about the transfiguration when He told the Twelve that there were some of them that would not die until they saw the Son of Man in all His glory.  And that was, of course, Peter, James, and John. Matthew 17:1-2a “And after six days Jesus taketh Peter, James, and John his brother, and bringeth them up into an high mountain apart, (just the four of them) 2. And (He) was transfigured before them: (before Peter, James, and John—the three of them) and his face did shine as the (What?) the sun,…”  Can you look into the bright noonday sun and get away with it?  No, you cannot.  It’ll burn your eyes.  That’s the kind of a glory that He was showing to these three men. Matthew 17:2b “…His face did shine as the sun, and his raiment (His clothing, whatever He was wearing.) was white as the light.”  And those men caught it.  Just a glimpse of it. All right, now come back to John.  This is what He’s referring to.  This was the kind of glory that He had to lay aside, or everybody that met Him would have ended up blind.  In fact, I think, really, that’s what happened to the Saul of Tarsus on the road to Damascus. I think that light from Heaven was just like a welder’s torch. It just seared his eyes, and he was blind.  And I think that was the malady that he carried with him the rest of his life.  Now that’s speculation, and I can’t prove that.  I always make a note when I bring this in.  But nevertheless, this was the glory that He had with God before the world was ever created.   All right, now here it comes, almost word-for-word out of the Book of Psalms. John 17:6 “I have manifested thy name unto the men which thou gavest me out of the world:  (That is the Eleven believing disciples.  We’re going to talk about Judas a little later this afternoon.) thine they were, and thou gavest them me; and they have kept thy word.”  Now verse 7, now remember, this is a prayer.  He’s praying to the Father. John 17:7-8 “Now they (these Eleven) have known that all things whatsoever thou hast given me are of thee. (It’s a God connection.) 8. For I have given unto them the words which thou gavest me; and they

have received them, and have known surely that I came out from thee, and they have (What’s the next word?) believed that thou didst send me.” In other words, those Eleven believers—I’m leaving Judas out—those Eleven believers now got a comprehension of who Jesus of Nazareth really was.  He was a member of the Godhead.  He was the Creator of everything.  Verse 9 and this is the Lord Jesus pouring out His heart that night just before His arrest. John 17:9-10 “I pray for them: I pray not for the world, but for them (These Eleven, especially, maybe He was including some of those other believing Jews.  But He’s praying primarily for these Eleven disciples.) which thou hast given me; for they are thine. 10. And all mine are thine, and thine are mine; and I am glorified in them.” John 17:11 “And now I am no more in the world, (In other words, He’s about ready to go through His death, burial, and resurrection. And then His ascension where He’ll be back with the Father.) but these are in the world, (These eleven men, they’re in the world.) and I come to thee.  Holy Father, keep through thine own name those whom thou hast given me, that they may be one, as we are.”  In other words, that relationship between the believer and God the Son and God the Father.  We have that same thing, of course, in our glorious Age of Grace. That comes back to Romans chapter 8—that if we’re born from above, we are heirs of God; we are joint-heirs with Christ. All right, I love this.  John 17, I don’t know why I’ve never taught it before in the program setting, but I haven’t.  Verse 12: John 17:12 “While I was with them in the world, (those three years) I kept them in thy name:  (That’s why they were so insulated from all the hatred and all the things that were constantly around them.) those that thou gavest me I have kept, and none of them is lost, (Except who?) but the son of perdition; (Here it comes now.) that the scripture might be fulfilled.”  And we’ll come back to that again in the next Psalms. John 17:13 “And now I come to thee; and these things I speak in the world, that they might have my joy fulfilled in themselves.” Let’s go back to Psalms, so we make a little headway anyway.  Come back with me now to Psalms chapter 40.  I just wanted you to see how everything that David by inspiration wrote was actually fulfilled in the life of Christ in His three years of earthly ministry. All right, now let’s go back and rehearse how the Psalmist puts it.  Then, I think, you’ll see the connection.  Psalms 40 verse 9 again: Psalms 40:9-10 “I have preached righteousness in the great congregation: (in other words, the Nation of Israel) lo, I have not refrained my lips, O LORD, thou knowest. 10. I have not hid thy righteousness within my heart; (In other words, He was constantly letting Israel know who He was.  The only reason they didn’t know it was because they couldn’t believe it.) I have declared thy faithfulness and thy salvation: I have not concealed thy lovingkindness and thy truth from the great congregation.” The Nation of Israel should have known.  How many times have you heard me say that?  Israel should have known who He was.  Israel could have known who He was.  But Israel what?  They never knew.  Isn’t it sad?  But, you know, it’s the same way today.  It’s the same way today.  My goodness, America of all places, from coast-to-coast, should know the God of this Book.  But I read something last night that scares the socks off of me. There have been a lot of books published and brought on the market just in the last three or four months written by atheists.  And they are selling by the millions.  That was the word that the guy used.  These books authored by these atheists are selling by the millions here in our beloved America.  Well, what does that tell you?  Our younger generation is going down the tubes spiritually.  They’re the ones that I’m most concerned about in this coming election.  They have absolutely no spiritual concept anymore. I’ve got time enough.

  In one of George Barna’s recent polls, and I may have referred to it in an earlier program, he was polling only young people below the age of 17 from evangelical churches.  Eighty percent of them didn’t even know what a Damascus Road experience was.  Imagine! One of the fundamental stories in our Bible and 80% of evangelical kids did not know what it was.

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Especially for an autobiography

***Reader Request***

Relationships - Fabulously confident reader x domestic dork Daryl. That’s right,  fabulously confident and plus-sized reader from Simply one of those days is back! Have fun, kids, and thank you for the request, anonymous friend!

Pronouns - she/her

Perspective - 2nd person You, 3rd person Him.

When - Alexandria, pre-Negan

Genre - fluffy and romantic! Also might could be a tad steamy; it’s the hormones. Daryl doesn’t mind. Y’all are married.

TWs - it’s not unsafe for work, but you are feeling rather...amorous. Otherwise, we have some crude language during Daryl’s POV

Word count - oh, let me have my fun

Masterlist for more stuff and thangs, and a link to. . . Kofi :D

Him

He couldn’t help but laugh when she dramatically flopped back onto the bed and sighed, “Ugh, I’m so tired!”

And as soon as he did crack up, she was quick to toss back, “Daryl darling, are you teasing me?”

But the pout she was giving him wasn’t serious, a fact proven by her wink as she flipped onto her stomach.

“Oof, apologies, my sweet,” she exclaimed before readjusting so she wasn’t directly on her stomach. “Can’t lay like that anymore, I suppose.”

“Y’okay?” he quickly checked, forgetting all about buttoning his shirt back up to jog over and kneel beside the bed.

“We’re fabulous, don’t you worry.” She hummed and gave him a look he’d very happily grown familiar with. “You’re so sexy when you get all concerned about us,” she purred, and reached out to lightly drag her fingers through his hair to pull him close.

Yeah, that was another thing about her being five months along.

Her own exact words regarding it were: “Lordy, every time I look at you, I want to yank your jeans down, mount you, and have at it.”

His cheeks got all warm as he remembered that particular afternoon. Both because he was currently (rapidly) getting in the mood as he felt her kissing his neck, but also because of the memory itself.

She’d accidentally said that—yes, that, the whole quote, word-for-word—right in earshot of most of the group.

Tara and Glenn were fucking rolling, and he’d never seen Abraham get so red as he wheezed alongside Carol and Rick. Even the reverend guy—sorry, ‘Father Gabriel’—coughed awkwardly to try and hide his laughter from his spot in the corner.

Then Carl had come downstairs wanting to know what was so funny, and for some reason, Eugene had actually started to repeat the damn thing.

Luckily, Michonne spoke up louder, wiping her eyes as she told Carl that “Y/N was being funny about her hormonal changes.”

“You know how I have a flair for the theatric, sweet boy,” she’d told the kid with a wave of her hand and a shrug of her shoulders, even while covering her eyes in embarrassment and trying not to giggle.

Meanwhile in real time, his wife was very effectively getting ready for another round.

He wasn’t complaining.

By then on top of him, she breathed into his ear, “Don’t worry, handsome, I won’t keep you too long.”

His hands were on her beautiful curves, savoring every inch. “Keep me all day, gorgeous, I won’t mind,” he managed to murmur back.

She hummed. Tossed her hair in that confident way he loved so much, and gave him a wicked little smile that turned him on like nothing else. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

You

He’s always so tender afterward. Even after you two ‘have fun’ in a less-than-tender place.

Mmm, like when you’d done it against the back wall of the house that time...or the other time...or that time in the garage on the work bench...or that time on his bike behind the building during that supply run...or the other time...or when...

Lordy, you had no idea how wildly randy you’d be at this point in your pregnancy. Granted, you’d been pregnant just about as long as you two have been physical. Honeymoon baby. When Maggie had correctly guessed the news, she’d playfully lauded your efficiency.

Anyway, for the past several weeks, you swear it’s as if you’re insatiable! In your defense, Denise said it’s entirely normal at this stage.

And, in your defense, your husband is exceedingly sexy, truly a work of art.

The thing that knocks your socks off is the fact that he’s only been at this for five months. He was a remarkable student. And just so...attentive. Generous, you might add.

And it’s so deliciously sweet that whenever you try to praise him about it, he shakes his head and mumbles that “You’re the one who showed me the ropes.”

You gaze down at him sleepily as you lay in bed together. His bare back with his scars and tattoos is showing the rise and fall of his breathing. His legs are barely covered by the sheet, likewise that stunning behind of his. And those strong arms you love to look at so much are draped around you.

You can’t get enough of this, how soft he becomes after. Pun not entirely intended...

And you’d be content to have him keep resting his head against your waist as you play with his messy, messy hair all day. His messy, sexy, rugged, masculine, even a little dirty hair—Lordy, you two only finished a several minutes ago and here you are gearing up again.

How can you be so exhausted and yet so ready to tumble again? You’d thought food cravings and some emotional ups and downs would be the standout of this adventure. Well, you certainly were mistaken.

Instead, you’re very tired and so very, very liable to get aroused.

So tired today, in fact, that you may even possibly, potentially, only maybe...

Oh, there’s no use in denying it: you’re too tired to go on the supply run today. Just thinking about it, you’re almost in tears at the idea of walking up all the steps and packing up boxes of books to lug back.

But you’re equally in near-tears at the thought that you won’t be doing so.

The supply run is to a library this time!

Well, it’s really to a fairly unpicked urgent care clinic abutting a dentistry office, but it’s a block away from a library! Your favorite place! And because you’re so thoroughly tired, all you want to do other than make out with your husband is read, which is just another reason you were so looking forward to going.

Worth a mention is that it’s high time this place had its book collection tended to.

C’est la vie, you suppose. This exhaustion is only temporary.

“What was that sigh for, gorgeous?” your hear him ask you softly as he kisses your stomach and finds your hand to take into his. You could feel the rumble of his voice reverberate through your body from where his lay pressed against yours.

“I’m just being a little dramatic. I’m not looking forward having to get up and put on clothes. Then, the thought of carrying of all those books back to the tru—”

“—Still can’t believe Denise ain’t barred you from doin’ stuff like that,” he grunts to himself, his hand now absently drawing lines on your thigh.

You gave an indignant hmph, then reminded him with a kiss on his head that “It’s considered safe because I’m not adding any strenuous new activities, only maintaining what my body is used to.” You take his hand into yours and bring it to your lips. “And I’m far enough along that it isn’t a big concern.”

Another kiss, then you rest his hand on your breast for safekeeping. “Plus, I’m not lifting as much as I used to,” you add.

His thumb begins to move gently back and forth over it. “And you've been real excited to get more books.”

“Have I ever. I miss my book collection so much. It was fabulous, Daryl.”

Among your collection, you’d had all of Austen, all of the Brönte sisters, all of L.M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables, an original copy of ‘To Kill a Mockingbird,’ and only the fancy-bound variety of Shakespeare’s plays plus a signed (signed!) copy of “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.”

You especially miss the book your mom gifted to you. It was an Evelyn Stuart Hardy illustrated edition from the 1910s of Jane Eyre, your absolute favorite book in the world! It reminded you of her like nothing else...it had been her favorite book, and your granny’s, too.

You’d packed it up and kept it with you after the world fell. It was still with you after most everything else you’d had was stolen.

Until you’d ultimately had to burn it during the winter, when you were still alone.

Not a day later is when you’d run into Beth at the stream. That’s when she brought you to Daryl, and just like that, they brought you into the group. The rest is history, but how you kicked yourself for burning it.

Straightening your posture even while reclining, you push your shoulders back and remind yourself that you made a necessary decision. You’d needed the warmth.

“The shelves here are woefully understocked, darling, and there are plenty of houses to fill up,” you begin to tell Daryl. “I was saying to Deanna just the other day how perhaps we could transform one of the empty ones into an entertainment venue of sorts, keep morale up. Library on the top floor—very convenient if one wishes to browse the stacks with her very handsome, work-of-art husband in private,” you hint.

Does he realize what he’s doing as he rubs his thumb over your breast back and forth like that? Eyeing him, you continue. “A movie theater type room on the bottom or perhaps in the basement, a gaming room, a music room, an art room with supplies in the attic!” You’re getting excited again just picturing it! “Wouldn’t that be so fabulous?”

You hum at the thought, then look down to find him gazing at you with the most...“Daryl? Please don’t look so utterly in love with me, you know how your being in love with me turns me on. And I might mention what you’re doing with my nipple?”

Him

He couldn’t help but snort again—and he stopped doing that thing with his thumb, obviously.

“Your being in love with me turns me on.” Hell yeah he was in love with her, it was impossible not to be. Other than being entertaining as fuck, her confidence and endless optimism had its own gravitational pull, she was smart, caring, and—shit—so damn attractive. And she liked him! That was the craziest part of it.

He’d probably let himself fall for her ever since that time she’d kissed him on the cheek at the outdoor goods place a year or so back.

It was either then or when he’d finally seen her again, after Terminus. It was because of what she’d said that made him finally realize it.

The words hadn’t even been to him, they’d been to Carol. “Alright now, you. Get yourself over there and hug your best friend. He’s missed you.” Those words, weird as it might seem, that was what made him see it.

That realization had been scary enough, so just imagine how he felt next. Her first words to him were spoken softly, so only he could hear.

“Daryl Dixon, I would like to marry you someday.”

And then she’d kissed him as if there was nobody else there at all.

Yeah. He's just glad that sometime after finding the reverend guy—sorry, ‘Father Gabriel’— that he’d gotten brave enough to finally bring up what she’d said. As much as he hated himself at that point in time, he felt safe enough with her that he couldn’t not ask. There was too much risk of losing her again.

“Y’know that thing you said? Before you kissed me that time, Y/N?”

“Which time, handsome?”

His pulse had been going hog wild. “...When I finally saw ya again.”

She’d smiled through her exhaustion, so much like that first day he’d met her. Winked at him.

“That was a very nice one, I must admit.”

And that’s when her eyes grew wide as she’d remembered exactly what she’d said before she’d done so, as well as noticed that he was nervously looking back and forth from her to the reverend guy.

“Oh!”

The morning they’d woken up in the barn after surviving that hurricane was almost when they’d gotten hitched. Almost; Aaron had showed up, though, so it got pushed back only until the group decided to go to Alexandria.

At that decision, she saw no reason to wait any longer. Neither did he.

“It’s just a pity we’ll need to wait until I can lay you down and show you my ‘form and function,’” she’d lightly teased in his ear as she wiped her tears away, fully aware that that time might never actually happen.

For all they knew, their marriage could have been as short as only that day, depending on what lay ahead in that place.

But, turns out, Alexandria was safe. A good place.

So, two days in, she’d brought him to a bedroom in the quiet part of the house, and...showed him the ropes.

And now, he and she had a kid. Honeymoon baby. He was so fucking excited about it.

Denise said in a month or two is when he’d be able to finally feel them kicking around in there.

“So, you’re tryin’ to bring home just how many books today?” he asked Y/N, scooching up from his nook against her waist so he could hold her in his arms. “The whole damn library’s worth?” he teased.

“I would have endeavored to make a dent, perhaps.” Was it his imagination or did she sound disappointed?

“Would have?”

She pulled his arm around her tighter. “I’m just too tired, darling,” she admitted quietly. So that was why she was down.

He curved his body against hers and breathed in the smell of her hair. He didn’t like it when she was down, seemed unnatural. “It won’t be the last time we go.”

“Certainly not. Sasha, Olivia, and myself were calculating just how many trips we might need to take to get enough volumes. Final estimation was three.”

The way she announced that made him grin. “But you had your hopes on comin’ today,” he stated more than asked as he wove his fingers in between hers.

“I did. Libraries and auditoriums are my favorite places. And, it’s simply been a while since I’ve ventured outside the walls. Well,” she considered. “Other than to check on sweet little Enid, she’s quite the escape artist.”

“What kinds of books were you gonna bring back?” he wanted to know. Because he was fixing to bring back every dang one.

But he felt her make a shrug as if it were unimportant, and then she waved it off. “I made a list, it’s on the kitchen island or the coffee table, if I recall.” It was kinda cute that she thought she could fool him into not knowing when she was disappointed.

“What are some of the things on it?” he pressed, gently caressing her belly.

He felt her shrug again. “The useful parts of the reference and how-to sections, especially agricultural ones for Maggie. Oh, and you’ll notice a note regarding a pasta-making book for Shelly.”

She shook her head in amusement. “I appreciate generous helping of homemade linguini myself, so why she hasn’t simply made some by hand to enjoy is beyond me. You simply roll it out flat and slice it, easy as can be, no machine required.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

He moved back so she could turn and face him. “What else?” Come on, tell me what you want, gorgeous.

“Nothing, that’s all it takes to make homemade pasta.”

He grumbled only a little. “I meant the books, Y/N.”

She gave him another playful pout, then went on. “The teens and children here need some new reading material. Glenn will know which comic books are best, and he knows what Carl’s into. Oh, and our sweet Beth adored choose-you-own-adventures, so the kids will really enjoy those, if you find any.”

Fuck. He winced when she mentioned her name. That poor fucking girl. Losing her had been like losing Sophia all over again, but somehow worse because that time, it was undeniably his fau—

“—I can feel where your mind has gone, and as your wife would ask you to not think those things about yourself,” she told him firmly.

And after pressing a delicate kiss to his cheek and reminding him that she loved him, she resumed telling him more about the list.

“Tara could use one or two or several books on tape. She enjoys real histories, but reading is off limits until her concussion is healed more, so she was lamenting the other day. She’s bored to tears and going stir crazy.”

“I would be, too. Must suck.”

“There’s C.S. Lewis for Father Gabriel, ‘The Art of Peace’ for Morgan so he can have a backup copy. Carol and Rick enjoy Agatha Christie, Rick prefers her Poirot series. And Rosita has been very down, as you know, but she once mentioned a joke Fluffy told, so if the DVD section had any of Gabriel Iglesias’ stand-up specials, I was going to take them.”

Was Y/N gonna say what she wanted, though? 

“And um,” She giggled and shook her head. “I was more of going to tease Eugene by taking him home an entire encyclopedia. Oh, and I just found out that Michonne is a fan of cozy mysteries, too! I thought she’d be more the Stephen King variety, but no.”

Okay, finally something Y/N was into: cozy mysteries. Cozy mysteries...um...“What are cozy mysteries?”

“They’re in the mystery section—”

“—Stop,” he snorted.

“In the mystery section, but you’ll know them by their absolutely fabulous titles. They’re all puns!”

Puns. Okay. Um… “W-what kind of puns?”

“I’ve read a lobster shack themed one with the title ‘Drawn and Buttered,’ and Scotland themed one called ‘Under Loch and Key,’ so on so forth.”

Huh. Interesting. He’d bring back some if he could find them, he guessed. Sounds kinda cute.

“Tell me about what you want.”

Believe it or not, she’d somehow managed to toss her hair while laying there, then angled herself to look at his face.

“I was, handsome.” She winked. “Though...”

You

You feel bad for relaying your list of things to Daryl as if he were a servant or as if you were a woman who thoughtlessly ordered her man about.

Maybe it’s your pride speaking, but having him search around for your favorite book(s) is a little too much for you to accept when you’re still so disappointed that you can’t go yourself.

You’re used to being very physically strong, so this stage of exhaustion is a change you’d prefer to ease into, rather than dive into. And you hypothesize that your beloved Jane Eyre would say the same.

“C’mon, let me bring you back at least one book. Just one, gorgeous?”

...You suppose you can mention your genre of choice, at least, especially when he’s asking so earnestly.

“If you bring me back a nice, clean historical romance, I won’t object. Please steer clear of the harlequin section, darling.”

“Done,” he’s quick to announce. Until he sounds confused as he repeats, “Harlequin?”

“The bodice rippers,” you clarify.

“Bodice-rippers.”

You smile, and twist your body so it’s once again flush to his, lay his hand on the spot where your neck and shoulder meet, then arch your back and stick our your chest to make a pose.

“The books covers look somewhat like this, only the woman would have a gown or nightdress on rather than be completely in the nude.” With a light peck to his jaw, you simply must mention next, “And the man on the cover won’t look nearly as delicious as you.”

Which is of course why you next hear “Daryl! Y/N!” called from the main floor.

Him

“We’re coming, Abe! Allow us a moment,” Y/N shouted back.

“Golly, don’t tell us exactly what you two are up to!” was the undeniable voice of Carol that echoed next through the house, as did a very loud blast of laughter from Abraham. What are they, thirteen?

At least his wife thought it was funny. She’d even clapped.

“We were discussing literature, you! Keep your minds out of the gutter!” Y/N cracked up as she called back.

So, he groaned and got himself off the bed, threw his clothes back on quickly, and helped her get hers on. She’d almost fallen back asleep when he was looking for her socks.

Denise said how tired she felt was normal, though, as was the...other thing she was experiencing.

He thought it was gonna be cravings and throwing up like women had on like TV and shit, but nah, just sore boobs and being sleepy in the beginning, and now real sleepy and real horny were how it was going for Y/N.

It was good she was gonna stay home today. He was getting more and more uncomfortable with the thought of her going outside the walls too far with or without him. After what happened to Noah on that supply run, he just...

But he didn’t want to seem controlling or over-protective, so he tried not to protest too much. And she was just so damned excited about the library run, how could he tell her he didn’t like her wanting to haul boxes of books around?

Well, he thanked whoever was up there that she was too tired today.

Plus, now he got to surprise her!

Because fuck yeah, he knew exactly what book he was gonna bring her. It didn’t hit him at first, but he knew the perfect one.

Like, obviously he was gonna grab all the books and stuff on that list, but first thing he was gonna find was that one.

He’d read it in high school. Loved it. Reread it. Reread it again.

Got a good-ass grade on a report about it, too. Did it again the following year, wrote a whole new report and got a good-ass grade on that as well!

He didn’t even realize it was considered a chick book until some asshole made fun of him for it.

Well, fuck that guy, ’cause that book was the shit. And it was an autobiography, the idiot.

And just because it was kinda romantic and the main character was a girl didn’t make it ‘just’ a chick book.

Nah: it was about a kid who wasn’t really loved or treated well, who grows up and tries to stay decent but doesn’t really know what she wants to do, only what’s been kinda laid out for her.

She’s got big balls, a backbone, and the story ends up being a mystery wrapped in a drama and all of it ties together because she makes peace with her family and discovers a new one, then makes one of her own!

Who wouldn’t like that shit?

And, okay, this is dumb, but it was also really funny how the writer used the word ‘ejaculated’ in like every damn chapter. Not one time did that word mean what that word usually means, either.

The first time he saw the word just chilling there in an otherwise normal book, he almost snarfed up the beer he’d snuck into school he was laughing so hard.

Anyway, it was called “Jane Eyre: An Autobiography” and it was fucking amazing. And because it’s set like way back when and there’s a love story without tits in it, that’s fits the criteria of a clean historical romance, right?

Y/N was gonna love it so damn much. He almost asked her if she’d read it already, but decided he’d make it a surprise. There was some fancy wrapping paper he’d seen in Eric and Aaron’s garage, so he was gonna wrap it up all nice, too.

Such a fucking good book.

You

Maggie was a doll and made you a cup of your favorite wild mint tea while you were in the midst of sniffling on the couch about the supply runners having left.

That poor, sweet boy Sam came over shortly thereafter, and you were going to play Mario Party with him like you’d promised, but ended up falling asleep again. You awoke on the couch to find Sam sitting by you, albeit on the floor, between the recliner and the wall, reading The Phantom Tollbooth.

“I read that one when I was your age! Please lend it to me when you’re finished, I’d adore to take that adventure again!” you gushed.

He’s coming out of his shell more and more, but it’s very slow-going. You suppose that with a father like his, it was only natural, even if the man was dead now.

But today, Sam was comfortable enough to smile and start to tell you about his favorite parts of the book, which was excellent.

What’s also excellent is that you falling asleep while he was there seemed to have encouraged Carol to make cookies for him. It was plain to see that she was trying to keep the boy at arm’s length.

She’s terrified of becoming attached to another child for whom she condemns herself inadequate to care for. Her wounds run deep, especially in terms of Sam; she sees parts of herself in his mother.

So, that she gave in and baked for him and didn’t immediately kick him out once you’d accidentally taken a nap was a good sign.

The cookies were fabulous, by the way, and with the mint tea, it made the chocolate (chocolate!) rations taste that much better.

After that, you went on wall duty so you’d be somewhat productive today.

Your official job assigned by Deanna was as a recruiter of sorts; ease newcomers into life here, and go with Aaron, Eric or Daryl when pertinent to talk to survivors.

Only thing was, you hadn’t gotten any new survivors yet, so wall duty and supply running and some babysitting was what filled your days.

But it is nice that yours and your husband’s jobs are connected. He recruits, you welcome.

“Say, sheriff, what time is it?” you called down when you saw Rick taking Judith for a walk.

He looked at his watch. “They’ll be back in about two hours, Y/N,” he let you know you with a smile.

The thought of waiting two more hours got you weepy again.

Although, maybe you could manage to squeeze in another nap after your shift was over.

Him

The place had like 7 copies of that book! Would it be a dick move to take all of them?

Fine, it would. Okay, he’d just take...four—no, three. He shouldn’t be greedy.

That new-looking one was a no-brainer, so that one was coming. Aw shit, and that one had a creepy cover. That one was his, he called dibs. And...shit, look at the really old one. Book people like old copies, don’t they? Aw shit, it’s got pictures in it, too? Damn, these are good-ass drawings.

This is the one. It’s perfect.

Once those were tucked away safely, Glenn helped him find all the other things on her list.

Meanwhile, the rest of the supply runners browsed for stuff like zip ties, tape, and toilet paper, and were getting very distracted by all the books and magazines. And since there weren’t that many walkers in there, it was a good time.

He even remembered the title of the other book he’d ever really liked. It was another he’d read in school, called ‘The Giver.’ He liked that one because the kid mans up big-time and saves the baby’s life. Carl would probably like it, so he packed that up, too.

Then, Glenn popped up from the books-on-tape and DVD section and held out what might have well been a gold bar. Turns out, the British made a whole damn TV series about Jane Eyre six-ish years ago, and this library had the box set.

“My baby sister loved this one. She was in the stage version of it in high school,” Glenn shared with him quietly. “It’ll be nice to watch it again, and Mags will enjoy it.” He coughed a little. What was that smirk for? “That is, if it won’t be intruding on you and Y/N’s private time.”

“Shut up.”

You

...zzz…zzz…zzz...zzz...

Him

It was fine, he could wait until morning. Unless she woke up and wanted a really late supper or something...?

...But Y/N was sleeping like a log.

He slumped his shoulders.

Denise insisted that his wife was fine, checked her blood pressure, all that. He’d been real worried, is all.

Y/N did give him a “Why hello there, Daryl darling” when Denise woke her up to check on her, but she went right back to sleep after, and very happily, by the looks of it.

He knew she needed the rest, but he was also bummed that she was asleep when he got back. Really disappointed, but it ain’t like it was her fault. She had their baby in there, that’s gotta take a lot out of somebody.

He looked at the wrapped present on the nightstand. Eric did him a solid by finding a bow for it.

Then he looked at the copy of Jane Eyre he’d decided to keep as his own, the one with the spooky cover.

And then he felt only moderately like a dick for being excited that he could crack it open and reread it without any interruptions.

Like a kid finding a toy they thought they’d lost, he opened it up, flipped to the first chapter.

Oh yeah, there was the good stuff: “There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.”

That’s right, no long walk for you today, Jane, you get a break. Don’t worry, kid, I remember: you don’t like long, chilly walks ’cause it makes your toes too cold. I don’t like cold toes, neither, that shit ain’t no fun. Just sucks that your dickhead cousin is about to fuck shit up. It’ll be okay, you’ll get out of there.

Okay, kid, let’s see if we can’t get you out of Gateshead by the time I need to hit the sack...

You

When you woke up at 2:32 a.m. and needed to use the facilities like nothing else, you only knew that your husband was asleep in his clothes beside you on the bed, and that he’d apparently borrowed your booklight.

This didn’t phase you, and you went about using the toilet, washing your hands and face, brushing your teeth, and primping your hair as you normally would before bed.

What you learned after you came back was that he’d fallen asleep reading (and had rolled onto the paperback slightly).

That hadn’t happened yet in all five months you’d shared a bed and all of the two years give or take that you’d known him. It was also quite alluring to you, to say the least, and you felt delighted to have found one more thing to love about him as you grabbed the glass of water on the nightstand and took a few gulps.

But what made your panties liable to fall off right then and there was that he’d fallen asleep while reading your favorite book.

Jane Eyre!

Still floored and frozen in place when his groggy “Hey” reaches your ears, you blink out of it, remember to swallow the gulp of water that you’d forgotten about in your shock, and smile back at him.

“Good evening, Daryl,” you are able to respond, returning your glass to the nightstand and crawling back onto the bed.

He’s got an arm around your waist in seconds and has his lips on yours right after. “How you feelin’, gorgeous?”

You make the executive decision to crawl onto his lap and straddle his hips rather than crawl to your side of the bed.

“I’m feeling fabulous.”

“You hungry? I can go grab food, there’s leftover—”

“—Stay here with me, sweet man.”

“Done.” It was dark, but you could see a lazy, shy grin light up his face nonetheless. “I, um, brought ya back somethin’.”

But before he could say or do anything else, you have to kiss him again. And a second time. Might as well do a third for good measure. And by  the third, you realize: he brought you ‘back’ something, not brought you ‘up’ something.

As in, he alluded to having brought something home, not to him having brought a snack upstairs earlier, as you initially thought he’d meant.

“You brought me back something from the supply run, you mean? Other than yourself alive and well?” you coo, nuzzling his neck, content to simply feel his heart beating against yours.

That explains that copy of Jane Eyre. How on earth he knew that was your favorite, you cannot fathom. Unless Carol remembered and told him at some point?

He must have been trying to read it before giving it to you so he’d be able to talk about it.

Your kisses get more frantic.

“Babe, hold up, let me grab the damn thing,” he giggles as you kiss that ticklish spot by his ear.

“It’s right here, handsome,” you let him know, intending to lean back and grab the book for him. That is, until he presents to you a lovely little wrapped gift with a bow on it.

What on earth?

Him

The surprised look on her face was reward enough, and she hadn’t even unwrapped it yet!

She looked almost bashful (Y/N, bashful! That in itself was something!) as she unseated herself from his lap and settled down beside him, taking the package and turning it over in her hands.

“I sense a book in here, I’m already thrilled,” she told him, and looked back into his eyes with that same surprised, almost kinda confused expression.

Finally, she began to unwrap it, so he was finally able to start telling her all about it.

“It’s this really old copy of this book. The story is damn good, I’m tellin’ ya. I even, um...” he trailed off. Shit.

All she was doing was staring at it. Hadn’t even unwrapped it fully.

Why was she just staring at it? Oh shit, and she’s crying. Shit, man. He knew she was hormonal and stuff, but shit, um, okay, what could he do to fix this? What did he do to cause it, though? He was such a fuck up—WHOA, never mind, now her lips were on his.

Kissing her was one of his favorite things, sure, but now he was the kinda confused one. She was crying while she was kissing him.

Over a book?

“Gorgeous, hey. Tell me what’s wrong,” he murmured into her ear when she stopped for air.

In response, she looked at him as if he’d just spoken gibberish.

“Wrong? Abs—absolutely nothing is wrong, you sweet, silly man!” She sniffed again and wiped her eyes before hugging the book to herself. She started kissing him again, too.

He was trying to gather the wherewithal to pull away and ask her again what was going on, buuuut he didn’t want to, not when kissing her was one of the best damn things.

Lucky for him, she ended up pulling back.

“Darling?” She broke out into that gorgeous smile and rested her forehead on his. “I had this exact edition. My, my mother bought it for me as a college graduation present,” she explained, slightly out of breath as she sat back up. “These are happy tears, don’t worry. Though, maybe a few unhappy tears because I miss her and dad but, oh my goodness, I’m so... I feel like I’ve got a piece of her back!”

For all that she just spilled, the best he could do was blink and ask “This same one?”

“The Collins Clear Press, E. Stuart Hardy Illustrated Edition. Oh, Daryl, I am feeling so many things right now!” She hugged it to herself again and sighed. “I had every work of the Brönte sisters, but no less than five copies of Jane Eyre. It’s my all time favorite.”

Okay. Okay, he felt better. So much damn better, shit.

But just to make sure, he had to check, “You like it?”

Yet another kiss was her first answer, followed by “Darling, I adore it.”

She then swallowed and pushed her hair behind her ears. Exhaled heavily, then drew herself onto her knees and—oh, okay, lovin’ this—straddled him again.

“Now, if you’re up for it, handsome, I would like to make very slow, long, drawn-out love to you?”

He made an unintentional groan by way of response, his jeans were getting tight. Oh right, he forgot to put bed stuff on. Pajamas, whatever you call them.

To which Y/N bit her lip and laughed softly. Tossed her hair the way she knew he loved so damn much. “But before I relieve us of our clothing, first I would like to know the mystery behind this.”

She leaned back to grab something…

Oh, his book. She’d grabbed his copy of—aw shit, had he fallen asleep on it? The pages got all bent.

Damn.

You

“If I have this copy, what is this one?”

“That one’s mine,” he tells you shyly. Or maybe he wasn’t speaking shyly as much as he’s getting out of breath because you’re lightly grinding your pelvis over his.

“You have your own copy, Daryl.” Not a question, more of a declaration, but you’re just proud you managed not to moan as you said it. Cool down, mama, let the man talk, you remind yourself.

“Just got it today. I took,” He cracked up and bowed his head as if embarrassed. “I took three of them. The old one was for you, there was a new one that I figured could go in your library, and that one I wanted to keep for me, I dunno.”

Perhaps you’re panting a little right now...“Oh, I think you do know,” you whisper back, endeavoring to slow yourself down. “Now, please tell me how on earth you came to want a copy of your own?”

He makes a shy little shrug. “It’s a good story. The book, I mean. I just, um, read it a bunch of times back in high school—mm, fuck!” he lets out an appreciative groan after you can’t help but buck your hips.

Ah, it's about time his hands found their way under your shirt.

“But, um, yeah, I just really liked it. ’Specially for an autobiography, those are usually so damn borin’—h-hot damn, Y/N,” he chokes out. Okay, you may have done that one on purpose...

You help him take your shirt off. “Everything that is coming out of your mouth, darling, is making me so hot.”

“I h-had a hunch,” he murmurs back with what’s almost a self-satisfied chuckle.

“May I finish removing your clothes, Mr. Dixon?

“Yes, ma’am.”

You’ll tell him that the book is entirely fictional and not really an autobiography later, because right now, you need to press your lips to his along with everywhere else that you can on his body.

Him

Judith was up real early today, he heard her squealing. She was almost walking on her own now, ain’t that wild?

Call him soft if you want, but he was so damn excited that another one was gonna be running around with her soon enough. His own kid, too, how insane was that? And maybe Glenn and Maggie would finally have one, too...

Hot damn, was he feeling soft this morning.

Kinda hard not to be. Y/N was still fast asleep with one thigh wrapped around his middle—oh, he’d just made a pun, didn’t he? Hard-not-to-be-soft. Wait, was that a pun or something else?

Y/n would know, is she awake yet? He looked away from the pages to check on her.

Nah, she’s still asleep. And shit, man, she was damn gorgeous whatever she was doing, just look at her.

Anyway, while his wife was still recharging and while neither of them had to get up just yet, he had gotten Jane all the way through her boarding school years and she’d just met the kid she was nannying.

It’s cool that this copy had footnotes, because he’d forgotten what the stuff the little French girl spoke meant. How do you even pronounce that stuff?

You

As you stretch awake, you have to make a little mmhm in appreciation.

“The first thing I see when I wake up is my husband reading our favorite book. Today’s going to be a very good day, I can tell.” You’re still exhausted today, but that’s alright.

The corners of his mouth prick up and his cheeks redden. “The first thing I got to see was you naked, so it’s already a real good one.”

Oh, how fabulous! He isn’t usually as forward as that, even in private. You’d say he even sounded proud of himself, which is in itself a triumph.

And after last night, oh, he has every right to be proud.

You reach behind you to grab your water glass from the nightstand and take a long, refreshing sip, then hop out of bed and saunter your way to the bathroom. Slowly.

When you turn your head back, you’re pleased to see him staring and adjusting his legs to hide the excitement you just caused.

After freshening up and using the toilet, you slip on some clean undies and pajamas, then pick up the copy he’d given you and clutch it to your chest before snuggling back into bed with him.

“So, how far did we get this morning?”

“Jane just asked Mrs. Thornfield-lady is there are any ghost stories about the mansion they live in.”

“Getting to the juicy parts.”

“Hell yeah.”

“Are you meant to head out again today for your official job?”

After a signature grumble, he closes the book and pulls you to him closer. “Can I bring this with me?”

“I won’t snitch that you’re reading while you’re out there.”

“I meant you, Y/N.” He pauses. “But I should take the book, too, s’good idea,” he grunts, almost as if to himself.

You lightly kiss his cheek. “Let’s get up, sweet man. All three of us need breakfast, and you, as much as I hate to say it, need to put on,” You roll your eyes and sigh in mock-disgust. “Clothes.”

Him

Not that he was good at it, but he was doing his best to try and flirt with her. She deserved all that romantic stuff. Part of him was just still in shock that she was into him at all.

“You sure you want me to put clothes on?” he teased under his breath. That was flirting, right?

He nervously glanced over and saw that she seemed to enjoy it. “I certainly do not. But I have something in mind for later. Would you like to hear what it is?”

Try to sound manly for her and shit.

“Y-yeah.”

Way to go.

“As soon as we’re both home, I would like to bring you back here...” Her fingers were trailing down his chest...then down his stomach…

...to where his book lay in his hands, upon which she tossed her hair and asked in the cutest damn way possible: “Then we can read for a few hours?” 

He didn’t expect her to go in that direction, and he was so damn in love with that woman at that moment he thought he’d fucking burst.

“That sounds perfect, gorgeous,” he chuckled. “It’s a damn good book.”

She bit her lip and and giggled, taking one of his hands into hers and kissing it. "Especially for an ‘autobiography.’”

[yanderechuu]

Shower Thoughts

yandere!Class 1A x fem!reader

[3.2K]

Summary: Momo wasn’t as trustable as you had presumed.

Warning: Larceny, nonconsensual touching, masturbation

│

You used to spend roughly ten minutes in the shower, only ever needing to soak your body in the water, apply shampoo and body wash before rinsing all the foam of products from your skin and scalp. Shower thoughts simply consisted of the day’s agenda or any special occurrence that had happened the past week, never really drifting off to existential questions and dark notions that would keep you from leaving the bathroom later than usual. You neither necessarily liked taking a shower nor did you dread it, as to you it was only ever a mandatory routine of the day which you handled with a neutral mind.

But now, ten minutes were already a slow thirty, and majority of the time you bothered not to move your arms to make work of your hair, or lather your skin with soap as you normally would do had it not been for the questions plaguing your mind like how your classmates would terrorize your time and space.

Right, your classmates - who would spend every hour of the day with you as if they didn’t have anything better to do. As if you were an important subject of matter next to hero training. You never appreciated it, because from the start, you did not want to have anything do to with them. They smothered and coddled you as if air wasn’t that important to you, disregarding the way you felt about personal space, how it was very significant to you. Rare were the moments of peace as a few of them were always by your side, ‘ensuring your safety’ as they would like to quote it. Why ensure your safety? You had not been a prominent figure in the sports festival, neither did you have a quirk that could be of great utility for the villains unlike Bakugou or Tokoyami. You weren’t a problem child, either. Their justification of following you around like you were some sort of high-maintenance prisoner made no sturdy sense to you.

“There’s this new package of green tea my mother had sent me this week! Would you like to try it, (y/n)?”

“Sure.”

But if you had to choose among your classmates one whom you would tolerate for the following years you’d be in U.A., that would be Yaoyorozu Momo. She was kind and considerate, often determining your feelings before you could voice it out (not that you really had the courage to, most of the time). She was organized and pristine and never had you met someone more befitting for the definition of ‘mom friend’ than her. She was perfect in nearly every way, and even though you’d have the occasional pang of jealousy at some times her perfectionism was displayed (gender envy, isn’t it, (y/n)?), she never seemed to bear mal intent, so you would let the emotions slide. You’d see the galaxy in her eyes if you would stare long enough. Her tea was best substitute for coffee, too.

You never considered her more than a very great friend, though, and to her, that was a problem.

As you sauntered your way over to your dorm with her, you shuffled your bag to take your room key buried in the side pockets. “I’ll go down in a while, but you better make sure you’re in the common room before me.”

You wouldn’t allow your classmates to take advantage of your lone self simply because Momo wasn’t there to fend them off.

“Mhm! Lemon green tea as usual, correct?”

“Yeah. Thanks again, YaoMomo.”

Your use of sotto voce tone on her nickname gave a pleasant shiver down her spine; her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head had she not restrained herself. Having been always kept to yourself, you never felt the need to adjust your volume for others to hear properly, so oftentimes your voice came out in a whisper - not that she minded, of course. You sounded more sensual that way.

“Are you going to take a while or will I have to brew tea right away?”

“Training was more strenuous than usual, and my muscles can’t seem to relax,” you explained, “so I’m going to take a quick shower.”

From your peripheral vision as you were focused on your bag to fish out the key, you saw Momo’s jaw slack upon hearing your plan to take a bath. It was odd, but you didn’t give particular attention to it when you finally took out your desired item. You failed to notice the way she abruptly settled her gaze on the key, inspecting it as if she was deliberating its shape, form, and material, and installing it to memory.

“Oh- oh!” She exclaimed. “I do remember having some body wash that help soothe muscle strains and body aches. I can hand them to you if you want.”

You shook your head, smiling lightly. “You’re too kind, YaoMomo. But I think just hot water will do for me.”

She watched as you opened the door to your room, giving her one more smile before disappearing inside and locking the door with a distinct click. As soon as you did so, she pulled the sleeve of her wrist up, developing with her body lipids a key the exact copy of the one you had held.

You certainly lied when you had said you were going to take a ‘quick’ shower. Already ten minutes into it did you only decide to sleek yourself with liquid body soap, initially absentmindedly rubbing it on your body, before you gradually got rougher with your movements and soon you found yourself scuffing your own flesh with vehement motion.

They were excessively touchy again, your classmates. Denki got too close to your face while delivering a pick-up line that made you wish you didn’t exist in order to hear it, and upon nearing you did Bakugou pull you away from him, cursing at him to buzz off. He took his time feeling up your waist - the part he used to grab you - while at it. During lunch, as you were once again coerced into joining his group to the cafeteria, Izuku refused to let go of your hand as you walked, and Uraraka as adamant with hugging you by the hips with one arm. It was what girlfriends did, she said, and you were not entirely sure whether or not she referred to that word romantically.

And if not, then did girlfriends also normally touch the parts of which you did not want to be touched on? You felt, clear as day, a bare hand resting on your thigh when you sat on your usual spot, dangerously close to lifting your skirt for everyone to see, and when you gave Hagakure’s faceless face a questioning look, she asked you what was wrong. Her uniform sleeve was literally floating on top of your lap, and still she had the gall to pretend as if she was not touching you with lacking consent. 

 You were not safe from Shoto, either, when he offered to readjust your uniform tie and you were in no place to decline (you had the right to, but they just stripped you off of it), his breath hitching in ecstasy as his fingers brushed your chest; he was, audaciously enough, not hiding his bliss. Then he rubbed your shoulders to ‘warm you up,’ when all he really intended to do was motivate his own fantasy that you were his and he was simply scenting you like some fucking alpha to his omega.

You turned no blind eye to their gesticulations. You never once found it endearing, and wished they would stop with whatever the hell this was called, because you were quite sure this was past the border of molestation and could already be rendered a form of bullying.

But not once did you consider the possibility of having a class obsessed with your quaint self.

So you supposed that until you’d find a way to deduce their idiosyncratic actions and tendencies then you would have to make do with your own bathroom as your safe space. Momo was the only classmate you could confide to, so at least she was there.

Unfortunately, you had yet to see the other side of her coin.

Because as she was just right outside your bathroom door, obsessively taking in every bit of item you owned inside your dorm room like a madman, you were left with the impression that she was all you could ever ask for in a friend. You didn’t know how she was not any better than the rest of your classmates, adoring your very existence to the extent of insanity; how she’d crave for you so often and so terribly that she’d feel herself clench when you do so much as merely spare her a glance. And you had done that a lot today - she would have to relieve herself for it.

She spotted the heap of clothes right by your bed; it became apparent that you had stripped yourself off of it before entering the bathroom and taking a shower. Walking towards it, a portion of your seamless underwear came to view, and she resisted the urge to render into a mound of horniness in order to pick it up and inspect it closely.

It was a lighter color of (s/c). A plain, simple, modest undergarment item, still it evoked a particular feeling on the bottom center of Momo’s hips. The heat came rushing along her midriff and instigated the muscle of her legs to falter, and as soon as she felt it, a hand of hers drifted past her skirt, feeling up the slick accumulated on the fabric of her own panties only with the knowledge that your panties were currently in her possession. She needed release, but you were nearly finished with your bath, and she was still inside your room.

You walked out of the shower the moment she shut the door of your bedroom. You saw it closed, but you didn’t catch the culprit.

This unnerved you to no end. Undoubtedly, you thought, this had to be one of your classmates. Who else was it supposed to be? Aizawa-sensei (...)? You had yet to know their ultimatum, but you were sure this occurrence was another one of their schemes. You had assumed that all their weird, unappreciated antics were just to get you to socialize with them, but now you didn’t understand why it had gotten to the point of entering your room without permission.

You couldn’t keep this to yourself.

So you planned to bring it up to Momo, a representative of your class and someone whom you deemed trustable enough to share it with. Quickly, you dressed into your casual indoor attire, and rushed outside your room to head to the kitchen, where you presumed she’d be in the process of making your tea. But she wasn’t there.

Instead, she was in her own room, your panties muzzled right into her face and her own fingers buried deeply inside her cunt.

“Oh- oh, god- Ah! (Y/n)!”

Oh god, your panties. Oh god, your panties. The object most intimate to your parts of intimacy, soaking every bit of womanly secretion from your genitalia. Of all the masturbation sessions she had done to the thought of you, this was the hottest. She wasn’t quite sure whether to imagine your cunt on her lips in a position of mutual cunnilingus or your fingers thrusting into her in place of hers. She wanted both.

A whine slipped past her lips. To think that moments ago, she was in the same space as you were nude. Oh, to join you in the bathroom, doing inenarrable things to each other with the use of the showerhead. To touch your skin selfishly rather than only watch as she would do during class hours.

She came with a squeal, falling face-down to bite the duvet of her large bed. Gone in her hazy mind was her promise to you of lemon green tea, and as she still basked in the pathological euphoria of getting off, you were in the common room, anxiously waiting for her return.

But just as you had expected, someone was bound to spot you alone and take this as an opportunity to be with you, and they just so happened to be-

Oh. Aoyama.

He offered you a slice of cheese with his usual grin before settling down a few feet beside you, enough to leave you be in your personal bubble. You gave him occasional glances, unwrapping the cheese from its casing and he just sat there, eating his. He was alright, you guessed - another tolerable classmate of yours next to Momo. Perhaps it was because you used to always be alone in the classroom with him during break time that you were at ease with his presence. Or maybe he just seemed so gay and that, for some reason, comforted you. One gay presence could comfort another lol.

“It’s delicious.” Your comment came out inadvertently.

“Oui. Only the best quality for the best person.” He flaunted.

You weren’t exactly sure whether he was referring to you or to himself, but you paid little attention to that as the cheese was certainly delicious; you were not lying.

“It’s odd how your chose to take a bath at this time of the day.” He spoke.

You stopped chewing.

He meant to refer to your damp hair, but having just suspected your class of breaking and entering your room, you thought otherwise.

“I-” You choked on the cheese, ending up needing to gulp it like liquid content instead of breaking it down to fit your throat. 

Immediately, he sprang up in concern, stepping over to you to gently thump you on the back. “Are you alright?”

“No- I mean- I just-!” You wheezed, occasionally having to clear your throat. You swatted his hand away from you; you hadn’t meant to appear rude, but you did. You stood up in a rush. “L-look, I have to go.”

“Don’t you want to drink water?”

“I’m- fine,”

With your words, you took off from the common room area and headed back to your room. There were two sets of emotions that mixed to form the bile in your throat. One was wrath and humiliation upon the discovery of Aoyama’s actions. The other was betrayal and confusion from Momo’s absence when she had said she’d be brewing tea for you, and it wasn’t the tea that disheartened you. She knew of your issue with the class, and if she were busy, couldn’t she have texted you a heads-up?

She shouldn’t be surprised when at the next time she saw you, you interacted with her less. Your intention to distance yourself from her was most prominent, and it didn’t help that your classmates took notice of this, because now they were taking advantage of the situation, tagging you along with them in spite of your futile attempts to decline now that Momo was nowhere to tell them off. When she’d talk to you, you would answer, though your voice was back to speaking to her like she was a stranger. 

Resentment was stronger than ruing the lack of intimacy between you two. It was as if she had received your panties in exchange for the time she’d be spending with you, oddly enough. After much deliberation, she came to realize that this was your little ‘tantrum’ after not being able to meet with her the other day. 

It was pretty cute, she thought, that you’d try and make her acknowledge the fault on her part by ignoring her.

You didn’t walk with her back to dorms as per usual that dismissal. Instead, just like what you had used to do before finding consolation in her, you walked alone, accomplishing being able to avoid your classmates as you did. By the time she reached the dorms, you were in the kitchen, fetching a glass of water to satiate your throat. She took a hold of your wrist before you went back to your room.

“(Y/n),” she pleaded, “tell me what’s wrong.”

You looked at her with a reluctant expression. Perhaps you should. After the short while that you had been hanging out with her, her presence turned into something you came to miss. You wanted her back, but not in the way she wanted you.

“I-it’s just,” you stammered out, “y-you know how I feel being alone in the common room without you. I... I’m not comfortable with our classmates when you’re not around.” She took pride in this. “I don’t take it lightly how you left me alone the other day...”

Your voice faltered out the longer you spoke.

So she was correct; you were certainly having your little ‘tantrum.’ With a guilty smile, she left your wrist to hold your hand tenderly, and suddenly it dawned upon you the feeling of whenever Bakugou held your waist, Shoto nuzzled his face on your neck or Izuku invaded your personal space.

Fear and apprehension.

Before you could preach your objection to whatever she had planned ahead for you, she dragged you along with her and you both reached her dorm room before you could comprehend where she was taking you. 

“I’ll make it up to you.” She said, making you sit on her large bed.

Then she proceeded to make you tea, boiling water with an electric kettle situated on top of her study desk; there also laid a tea set next to her three books, which you assumed were those of which would aid her in the utility of her quirk, like encyclopedias. Beside those was a piece of cloth, unfolded, unkept - a (s/c)-colored silk fabric.

Your face drained of color.

She pushed the books towards the cloth, completely obscuring it from your view and leaving the table disorganized. You knew Momo, neat and orderly as much as possible; she wouldn’t do that without reason.

Now that you thought about it, the same day someone had barged in your room, your underwear had been missing from your set of laundry garments. You spent the next whole day actively avoiding Aoyama, thinking he was the culprit to this felony. At the present moment you were reconsidering your allegation.

“U-um, Momo, I need to go-”

“Here!”

She yelled it so giddily, so uncharacteristically, as she pushed the cup of tea towards your way. How she did so was very quick that you had not the time to take it properly, and steaming liquid fell to your décolletage, past the cotton of your uniform and streaming down the valley of your breasts. It was a moist mess. She loved every bit of it.

“Oh! Oh, my bad. I’ll- I’ll clean you up!” She exclaimed, all flushed and excited.

You didn’t find it in you to push her back when she began to do exactly what she had said, taking your blazer off, loosening your school tie and unbuttoning the dress shirt underneath, only ever being able to stare at her with eyes that evinced betrayal, because it slowly occurred to you that she was satiating her own selfish obsession with you all under the ruse of maintaining a decent friendship. 

“(Y/n),” She breathed out, “I adore you.”

She was no different than the rest of your classmates, and you were a fool to think otherwise.

[themadhalewrites]

Future Mrs Halliwell

Fandom: Charmed (1998-2006)

Character/s Included: Chris Halliwell, Wyatt Halliwell, fem!Reader and the rest of the Halliwell Crew

Word Count: 1409

I had know the Halliwell family after Wyatt invited me to Chris’ 15th birthday. I had met Wyatt when he was doing the family shopping when he was 16. Although I didn’t know they were witches then I did now and I have known the family 7 years now and over those 7 years I had since started dating Wyatt. Since Wyatt is now 23 him and I had gotten our own apartment and although we weren’t married it hadn’t stopped us trying to have a child.

When Wyatt lost his powers the first time he had left alone to go into the past but when he returned and lost them a second time we knew we may be there for a longer so I refused to stay behind this time. Before leaving we brought a necklace from an antics show in town and placed the ring I wore on it before placing it around my neck. He had proposed to me a year or so ago with his mothers and aunts blessings.

I had seen him do this the first time but as he did it this time I could see he was afraid that the travel may harm me in some way and if I’m being honest I kind of was too. As he drew the triquetra with chalked onto the wall I felt uneasy so I sat of the chair closest to me admiring him. As I watched him finished I slowly stood and walked over to him as he chanted the spell and once he was finished he grabbed my hand as we walked through which lead us to walking into the a dodgy looking building which was what our apartment looked like back in November of 2006. I walked to the window and looked out “It’s weird looking at how town looked when we were toddlers” I said as he put his arms around me.

“We should be heading to the house” he said to which I shake my head

“We wait for Chris remember we told him we would wait here for him” he nodded slowly and looked out the window “We will be living here in under 18 years”

“And in 19 years from now we are engaged” the knocking at the barely there door made our attention turn towards it.

“Sorry to break up the whatever this is but we have to go. The longer we are here the more that could happen” Chris said before walking away.

“Chris wait up. I’m only human and Wyatt has no powers” I said trying to chase after him but getting dizzy, “I’m okay” I said blinking a few times and continued walking after Chris.

“You sure you’re alright?” Wyatt asked

“Peachy”

I watched as Chris hailed a cab for the three of us and when we got in I took a deep breath to focus on anything but as the car ride seemed to go on I placed my hands over my stomach which helped. When we arrived at the manor Wyatt got out first followed by me and Chris got out the other side. As I walked up the steps I had to stop “I’ll meet you guess in there” I said taking deep breaths Wyatt nodded but Chris stayed behind. I looked up at him and sat on the stairs and he sat beside me.

“You’re not okay Y/N” Chris said.

“I actually am okay I’m just making bubbles” I said moving my hands watching orb bubbles rise.

“He doesn’t know?”

“Didn’t need to worry Wyatt about the trip”

He got up and held his hands out “Come on can’t leave mum waiting”

I grabbed them “never leave Mama Halliwell waiting” as we walked in I went to Wyatt but once I saw Coop I just let out “Uncle Coop” that got me confused looks from sisters, Grams and Patty and annoyed looks from Chris and Wyatt.

“Y/N we talked about this we aren’t to spoil the future” Wyatt said softly

I looked at him sadly “I’m sorry”

“Okay, Uncle Coop?” Phoebe asked.

“The elders sent him to you. It wasn’t and will never be a forbidden love.” Wyatt said (Not the exact quote I know)

“I wanna go see Victor” I said looking up at Wyatt

“I want to as well” Patty says standing and I look wide eyes at Wyatt and Chris.

“I’m guessing Little Wyatt and I are there?” Chris asked and when Piper nodded he said “It would be quicker to orb”

After orbing Patty started getting excited to see Victor and as we headed to his apartment door I watched her get more excited.  I stayed by Wyatt side wary although I know Victor in the future this was different because not only was i scared for him due to Patty but also because he would know Wyatt, Patty and Chris but not me.  When Patty knocked I took a step away lean against the wall near the door. When the door opened Patty pounced at Victor squealing while Chris walked in followed by Wyatt and I.

When Patty finally pulled Chris asked “Where’s little Wyatt?”

“In the spare room with little you”Victor said but by the time he finished the three of us had already entered the spare room.

While the boys did what they came here to do I sat on the ground near Chris’ portable cot. When they were done I simply said “I’m gonna stay here it’s safer and all here and I can watch over the little youse with grandpa and Patty” the boys agreed and walked out to inform Victor that I was staying behind. Baby Wyatt was asleep but Baby Chris was wide awake so I got up and grabbed him out of the cot before sitting back on to floor with him. As we sat the bubbles started to happen again which seemed to amuse Baby Chris and when he started to giggle I laugh, the giggles drew the attention of Victor and Patty. When they arrived to the room Chris was clapping at the bubbles. I had expected Wyatt to stay asleep on the bed because older Wyatt is a very heavy sleeper but as little Wyatt hopped of the bed he stood and join in making bubbles which excited baby Chris more. That continued for another five minutes until you heard a crash in the living space of the apartment followed by an “I’m alright” in older Wyatt’s voice.

I raised from the floor picking up Chris and walked out with little Wyatt behind me still making bubbles. Patty and Victor moved out of my way as I made my way to older Wyatt “You’re meant to be with Chris”

“I was with Chris and the rest of the family until I crashed landed in here”

I mutter a quick sorry and sat in the chair but little Chris started to fuss and Wyatt’s bubbles only helped a little so I placed Chris on the couch and watched the bubbles happen again from my tummy. I wasn’t paying much attention to Older Wyatt because Little Wyatt came closer and placed his little hands on my tummy which seemed to make a giant bubble which you watched before looking at older Wyatt but before I spoke the rest of the family turned up. Little Wyatt ran straight to Leo as soon as he noticed which made the little bubbles reappear.

“They’re orb bubbles. I burped them when I was having Wyatt” Piper said before looking confused.

I looked at Wyatt and smiled but Chris spoke “Even little me likes you Y/N” and little Chris giggles almost catching a bubble.

“Are we going to ignore the orb bubbles rising from her stomach?” Piper asked shaking her head.

Little Wyatt pulled Leo to you “Bubbles daddy. Watch bubbles” little Wyatt let go of Leo’s hand and grabbed a hold of big Wyatt’s with one and placed the other on my stomach and the big bubbled appeared except this time it had pictures. More of memories.

“Wyatt you shouldn’t do this” I said softly “The future shouldn’t be spoiled for people”

“We will find a spell or something to forget” Phoebe said looking at the bubble of Chris’ 14th birthday revealing most of the family. I pointed out the family members as I spoke to them and heard Phoebe sound surprised when she saw three little girls hanging off Coop.

[anon-e-miss]

Intransigence 10

Jazz left Smokescreen to sit with his originator for the light-cycle and retreated to his office to do some research. Smokescreen remembered the exact date his originator had come home with mechfluid leaking down his neck. There would not be any surveillance footage left but it would be enough reveal at least some things. He kept his optics on Mirage’s cameras, Garboil continued to keep his distance and elude the security forces hunting for him. Some might suggest he had fled to the nearest Con territory but Jazz did not think so and his instincts were generally good. It did not take much poking around to confirm Prowl had been serving at the same station three vorns ago. Numerous article following cases Prowl had investigated were had been well covered at the time, as his more recent ones had been as well. The enforcer had not been anymore enthused about giving interviews.

Through the use of mnemosurgery, an old science but knew as a metaforesics tool, the enforcers were able to catch the face of the killer from the victim’s memory banks. Enforcer Prowl hopes this will be the break they need to catch the Poison Letter Slayer.

The article went on to quote Prowl lambasting the media for giving fanciful monikers to serial killers and encouraging their infamy. Jazz smiled, it struck him as something Prowl would say. There were photos of Prowl printed in articles, never posed. He was always in motion, driving back to the precinct, walking through a crime scene. Where Flatfoot had stopped to pose in front of crowds of reports, Prowl had dodged them with impunity. There was a particular photo that intrigued Jazz. Prowl had been captured for eternity mid shout, digit raised as he lectured an overzealous reporter for sneaking under the crime scene tape to take a photo of the victim. Again, Jazz smiled. But then, he frowned as in the background, a figure, familiar to him, stood out. Chromedome sneered at the cameras... or was he sneering at Prowl?

He clapped his servo over his face. It was so fragging obvious, how had he not made the connection right away? Three vorns ago, he had bonded to Rewind, just before he had resigned to study at the New Institute where earned his designation, Chromedome. Before that, he had been called Tumbler. He had been an enforcer. Jazz did not know the mech well but through Jazz’s friendship with Blaster, he had been around the mech often enough to have heard stories of the toxic partner who had led let to Chromedome resigning. From the way Rewind had tensed upon the telling of these stories, Jazz had gotten the impression that Chromedome’s relationship with this partner had not been platonic, at least not always. Trusting his instincts, Jazz tug deeper into the archives.

“That’s the fragger,” Jazz declared out loud as he saw Tumbler’s designation in print alongside Prowl’s in an article covering a murder trial. It was one of those rare occasions when Flatfoot had forced Prowl to stand beside him during a press conference. On the front page of the Iacon Gazette’s Prima-tur edition, standing the shadows behind Prowl, was Chromedome.

Only Prowl’s glyph would confirm it. Checking the time, Jazz thought it was time to give Smokescreen a break. As he walked to the medbay, he took an update from Mirage. Hound had, true to his designation, caught Garboil’s sent near his abandoned habsuite, near to the far edge of the enforcers’ search grid. Jazz wished them a good hunt as he prepared to launch one of his own. Jazz kept his languid pace as Chromedome walked passed him as Jazz approached the medbay, nodding his helm as Chromedome did the same for him. He was too seasoned an operative to ever let a glitchmouse know that they were his unlucky prey. What had the mnemosurgeon been doing near at the medbay? Jazz frowned as he stepped through the doors. Might Prowl’s most imminent danger be closer to home?

“Hey Ratch?” Jazz called to the CMO.

“What have you done?” The CMO asked tiredly.

“Broken the case,” Jazz declared. “I need ya to do me a solid.”

“What?”

“Put Prowl’s room on level six clearance,” Jazz said.

“That creep spotted near the base?” Ratchet asked.

“No,” Jazz replied. “I got a lead on the mnemosurgeon that scrambled Prowl.”

“Who?” Ratchet demanded. Jazz sighed.

“I can’t tell ya,” he said. “Not ‘til I actually confirm from scrap.”

“The Autobots’ mnemosurgeons are on my staff,” Ratchet growled. “I need to know if one is rogue.”

“As soon as I can tell ya, I will,” Jazz said. “I could be wrong, ya know.”

“But you don’t think you are.”

“No.”

Level six clearance would mean on Ratchet and a select few medbay personal would be allowed in Prowl’s treatment room, apart from Jazz and Smokescreen. His treatment files would be under a tighter encryption. It could well be for nothing, Jazz’s guess could be well off but the in a casual aside, so easy to overlook, buried in the many articles covering Prowl’s career, had been the designation of Prowl’s partner. Tumbler. The stories of Chromedome’s toxic ex partner circled through Jazz’s helm. Prowl had said neither of them had behaved well. What had he meant by that. Three vorns ago, Chromedome had bonded to Rewind. They had been going through the Rites for a full vorn already. What could have happened between Chromedome and Prowl that it would have led the mnemosurgeon performing a hack and slash surgery? An affair?

“Hey Smokey, Prowl,” Jazz greeted the pair as he entered the treatment room. “‘M thinkin’ ya outta stretch yer legs Smokey. Grab some fuel. Maybe catch a joor’s recharge in my office.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said. “I have been trying to tell him the same thing.”

“I’ll keep yer ori company,” Jazz promised Smokescreen. Prowl snorted.

“Okay,” Smokescreen replied. “He’ll be even safer with you than with me.”

“I am perfectly safe, Smokescreen,” Prowl sighed. Obviously this argument had been circling around and around. “I am in the middle of the Autobot base!”

“You can never be sure,” Smokescreen replied. “You never know.”

“I’ll keep’m safe,” Jazz promised. “Catch some zzz’s Smokey. Ya need ‘em.”

“I’ll be back in a joor,” Smokescreen promised.

“Two,” Jazz countered. “Get some fuel, get some rest.”

“Okay,” Smokescreen acquiesced. “Two. Behave, Origin.”

“Recharge, Bitlet,” Prowl replied. Jazz saw his rookie’s cheekplates flush. That was, no doubt, a mechlinghood nickname. Smokescreen made his retreat as he tried to save face.

“Have you made progress with your investigation?” Prowl asked as Jazz settled into the seat Smokescreen had vacated.

“One o’em,” Jazz replied. “Tell me, Prowl, if this designation sounds familiar to ya. Tumbler.”

“You know it does,” Prowl said, flinching enough that he winced with pain from jarring his welds. “Or you would not be asking.”

“Ya was partners,” Jazz said. “He’s talked ‘bout ya, never by designation. It ain’t complimentary.”

“I am not at all surprised,” Prowl replied.

“A lil over three vorns ago, he quit the enforcers o’er a toxic partner,” Jazz said. “He had just been bonded to the creation o’ a friend of mine.”

“He was forced to resign,” Prowl corrected him. “He was caught performing mneomosurgery on a suspect. In order to protect his new mneomosurgery division, Flatfoot covered it up. He would not have been able to if the suspect had remembered. But he did not so Tumbler was permitted to resign rather than face internal affairs.”

“Ya must o’ been relieved to see ‘m go,” Jazz said. “Seein’ the mech that raped ya every shift woulda been a wakin’ memory purge.”

“I do not know that he raped me,” Prowl replied, sinking into the medberth. “I do not remember.”

“I was talkin’ bout the mnemosurgery,” Jazz corrected, sombrely. “But ya ain’t.”

“I know we interfaced,” Prowl said, flatly. “I just do not know if it was only consensual.”

“What do ya remember?” Jazz asked.

“We argued,” Prowl replied. “I was angry. We had interfaced. I remember. I was leaning on my desk and I was angry because his bonding crest fell out of his subspace. He had told me he had called it off.”

“How did he get his needles in ya?” Jazz asked.

“I turned by back to him,” Prowl said. “I may have told him to leave. I may have threatened him. I was angry. I remember being enraged. I remember having my face pinned to my desk as his needles cut into my helm. I can hear, in my memory, I can hear cursing and grunting. I do not know if he spiked me after or during the mnemosurgery. I do not know if fragments of memories are superimposing on others.”

“Ya feel like he did,” Jazz guessed from Prowl’s posture.

“I do not know,” Prowl replied. “My spark was racing the next mega-cycle. It felt like it did when I was trying to kindle with Smokescreen. I had an implant but they are not reliable against merges unless the other spark is also outfitted with an implant. I knew Tumbler did not have one. He did not see any need. We never merged. It was a sore spot for him. He thought, considering I had an implant and a plug I was being fussy. My armour was scuffed... It could have been from struggling. I had a baffle installed just in case.”

[clairenatural]

Shy Nerd | Dean

Punk | Castiel

[ the world needs more of this]

college au! this ran away from me and ended up 2.2k whoops :’) i hope you like it! (also note i have no idea how motors work i am not an engineer)

There’s an open textbook on his bed, but Dean is ignoring it; instead, he’s scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. He doesn’t really understand Instagram, but Charlie had looked so shocked and dismayed when she found out he didn’t have one that he’d given in. He doesn’t post much—doesn’t have much to post, really, besides his car and LARPing with Charlie—but it sure is a good distraction from his physics work. He sighs and flops down on his back as he taps through stories. It’s a Friday night, so there’s all the usual parties, and clubbing videos, and group dinner shots. He frowns as he taps through Charlie’s story of a few of their friends playing D&D—he’d be there, too, if it weren’t for his exam. His physics final, on Monday, that he should be studying for. Instead of being on Instagram.

Dean is about to close the app and begrudgingly turn his attention back to his notes when he clicks onto one last story.

HELP NEEDED ASAP, it says, white against a black background, in all caps. Someone who is good at engineering. Or building. Or even just welding things. I’ll pay you, it continues, and then in pizza and beer. Please, in smaller font, directly below.

Dean pauses. He likes beer. And pizza. And building things. He could help out this—who posted this, anyway? It’s a name he doesn’t recognize. casanova.k. He taps on the profile picture. His eyes go wide.

Oh.

That guy. That guy from the hipster art party Charlie had dragged him to earlier in the semester, when she was still dating that art girl, and he’d ended up in a dark room thick with smoke, blurry with alcohol, talking to a guy about three levels of cool higher than him about…something he can’t remember. He just remembers hastily exchanging Instagrams as Charlie dragged him out of the party, ranting about her soon-to-be-ex.

And now he needs help.

Dean looks at his textbook. He looks back at the guy’s—Cas?—Instagram. He takes a deep breath and pulls up a message.

i like beer, pizza, and welding things

It’s smoother than usual, and Dean is proud of himself for about 2 seconds before he panics and ruins it: i’m an engineer, i mean. not just a rando with a thing for power tools, haha.

There’s an achingly long pause before Cas likes both messages.

This is how Dean Winchester ends up standing in the University’s metalwork studio, with 24 hours left until his final exam, staring at a multi-eyed, multi-winged, metal…thing.

It’s due next week, Cas had said. I know it’s last minute. The only studio space I could get was Sunday.

And Dean had said yes, like a fool, because he can never say no to boys in eyeliner with pretty eyes.

Now, staring up at the sculpture, Dean lets out a low whistle. Cas, next to him, groans and drags one hand down his face. “I know. It’s—this is why I need help, alright? I think I can still salvage it if I just—”

Dean, who has taken a few steps forward to admire the intricacies, looks up sharply. “What?”

Cas frowns back. “What?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I mean—I’m not an art guy, but this metalwork is great, man.” He traces one of the welded seams. “You, uh. Obviously have good hands,” he continues, and then winces. Great compliment.

There’s a soft huff and Dean looks up to see Cas watching him, bemused. “My good hands,” he emphasizes it, and part of Dean wishes he could melt like solder. “Make me a good artist. They do not make me good at making things move.”

Dean blinks at him. “Excuse me?” Move?

Cas frowns again, but it’s more out of worry than confusion. His arms are crossed, and Dean tries very hard not to focus on the black ink swirling down his forearm. “I sent you the plans yesterday.” Now he’s chewing on his lip ring, too, and Dean rips his attention back to the steel structure to stop himself from focusing on that, either. He tries to think about these plans. He remembers getting the text, opening them……and immediately disregarding them in lieu of getting as much studying done as possible. Internally, he groans.

Externally, he nods, pretends to know exactly what these “plans” are. “Sure, yeah,” he covers, and hopes it’s convincing.

The metal…thing, because Dean still isn’t sure exactly what it is, has a cluster of wings in the middle—6, to be exact, and they’re poking up around 3 large rings. He reaches out for one of the rings, right between two of its welded eyes, and gives it an experimental push. It creaks, and sways, and Dean winces when he hears Cas suck in a breath behind him. “Sorry”, he mutters, but when he turns back around Cas is frowning at the art piece and not at him.

Dean is expecting to hear either it’s alright or, more likely, never touch my art again, but Cas just hums and steps up until he’s standing next to Dean. “What do you think this is?”

It’s the closest they’ve been since he arrived, and Dean takes a moment to observe the other student from this distance. He’s wearing black boots, black jeans. A t-shirt with a band on it that Dean has never heard of. His nails are black but the rings he’s wearing are silver, and so is the cross hanging around his neck. His hair looks like he either spent an hour on it or no time at all, and his eyes—like at that party, the one neither of them has mentioned yet—are rimmed in black. Dean, in his sneakers and second-hand jeans and faded Batman shirt, has never felt less cool.

“It’s an angel,” Cas continues, and Dean isn’t sure if he’s given up on waiting for a response or if he’d never expected one in the first place. “A biblical one. You know, the ‘be not afraid,’ kind.” He lowers his voice for the angel impression, which Dean didn’t think was possible. He doesn’t know what to do with the realization that it is.

“Don’t think this is what my mom meant when she used to say angels were watching over me,” Dean tries for a joke, and it’s half-hearted, but to his relief Cas chuckles anyway.

“Yes, well. The church preaches them as significantly more…cuddly.” Cas frowns. “It makes praying to them easier to sell.”

The cross around his neck is starting to get confusing.

“And these—these are gonna move,” Dean hazards a guess, reaching out to touch one of the rings again. “All of them?”

“They’re electrons,” Cas nods, which Dean supposes is an answer. “They should all circle the wings together, like the classic atom diagram. But I can’t—” Cas reaches out for the ring this time, hand landing directly above Dean’s. He pushes it, and it sways. Obviously frustrated, he pulls back. “I need it to be motorized, to look right. And I have the motor but don’t know how…to do it.”

And, well. That, Dean understands. He smiles and, in a burst of confidence, claps Cas on the shoulder. Cas looks up at him, startled, but his expression morphs into a soft smile at the look on Dean’s face.

“Let’s get her moving, then.”

He tries not to think about the time slipping away as Cas hauls out the motor, or when he hands Dean tools. He does not stare too long at Cas’ biceps when he’s screwing something in, or when they have to do last-minute welding. They get it hooked up, and it whirs to life, and Dean does not think about how late it is when Cas gives him a hug in his excitement, or when he promises to follow up on his beer and pizza promise at his apartment.

It’s there, back in Cas’ apartment, sitting on his living room floor, both a beer or two in, when Cas finally mentions it.

“You’re the one who gave me that idea, you know.”

Dean stops mid-chew and blinks at him. “Whg—” he swallows his bite of pizza and tries again. “What?”

Cas shrugs and doesn’t make eye contact. He picks at the beer label. “At the party we met at. The one we aren’t talking about, for some reason.”

Dean wants Cas’ ugly, blue, cigarette-smelling shag carpet to swallow him whole.

“You told me you don’t ‘get’ art,” he sets the beer bottle down to do air quotes, and Dean’s shame deepens. “Because you only ‘get’ science. And I told you they were the same thing. And you told me to prove it.”

Suddenly, it clicks, and Dean risks making eye contact. Cas catches his gaze and holds it steady, and he’s calm—not upset, Dean registers, which is a relief. “The atom,” he blurts out, and Cas grins. “Yeah.”

“Art and science.”

“Yeah.”

Dean is sitting up straighter now. “But, the angel—”

Cas sighs and pushes himself up from where he’d been leaning against the couch. He turns until he’s fully facing Dean. “Divinity,” he raises one hand, “and the core building blocks of humanity,” he raises the other. “Art,” he gestures with the first hand, “and science.” With the second.

Dean stares at him. “Are you calling art divine?”

“Art is an expression of divinity,” Cas shrugs. “Science is an explanation for it. But it’s—you know. The same thing.”

Dean wonders how he can say that so casually, so nonchalantly. He wonders what would happen if he crossed the pizza-box distance and kissed him.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts instead, and Cas raises his eyebrows. “The party, I didn’t think—I didn’t think you remembered.”

“I assumed you didn’t,” Cas counters. “But you did. You do. Why didn’t you text me?”

It’s exactly what he expected to hear and it still catches him off guard. “Um—” Dean stammers, trying to think of a good excuse. Cas is just watching him—not staring at, watching—brows furrowed.

With a heavy sigh, Dean settles on the truth. “Come on, man. Look at me,” he scoffs and stares down at his jeans, the already worn knees even worse after the day spent kneeling on concrete. “I’m an engineering dork who plays D&D on Fridays and you’re—” he waves vaguely in Cas’ direction. “You know.”

The frown has deepened. “I don’t.”

“Cool.” It sounds so juvenile to say it out loud.

Now, Cas looks taken aback. “Dean. We met at a party where I voluntarily listened to you talk about string theory for an hour and a half.”

Dean doesn’t know if that’s a compliment or not. He buries any possible blush with a swig of beer. “String theory’s cool,” he grumbles into the bottle.

“Yes.” Cas agrees. “And so are you. Although—” he pauses and tilts his head. “I could have sworn you were in physics, based on how much you talk—”

Dean is so caught up in Cas Novak calling him cool that it takes his brain a second to process the word “physics,” but when he does he nearly spits beer all over the ugly carpet. “Shit,” he swears, already starting to scramble up.

“What?” Cas is following him, frowning.

“Physics final. In—” he checks his watch, “—16 hours. I gotta—” he still has time to water down the beer, study, and get at least 7 hours of sleep before—

“…Why did you just spend all day helping me if you have a final tomorrow?” Dean pauses from where he’s trying to find his other shoe to glance back at Cas, who looks so genuinely baffled it shoots a warmness into Dean’s heart.

“You needed help,” Dean shrugs, finally locating the missing sneaker and pulling it on. “Good luck with the angel, though, okay? If it gives you any running issues, feel free to—”

He’s pulling on his jacket when he feels a touch on his arm and realizes that, sometime in the past 20 seconds, Cas has crossed the room to him. “Dean,”

Dean pauses, and Cas…looks nervous.

“I like D&D,” he offers, and Dean stares at him.

“What.”

Cas levels his gaze. “There is nothing more punk than dragons,” he replies, incredibly seriously.

Dean’s brain short-circuits.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline from the exam panic, maybe it’s the 1.5 beers, maybe it’s Cas’ hand still warm on his arm, maybe he’s still caught up in Cas calling him cool and maybe his brain takes an extra second to load his self-consciousness on its reboot, but—he leans down and kisses him.

Cas makes a small noise but kisses him back almost immediately—but then he’s pulling back nearly as quickly, and he gently pushes Dean back by the shoulders when he tries to follow. Not far enough away to be a rejection, just…enough. “You have an exam in the morning,” he says this like an apology, and the warmth in Dean’s chest grows. “Text me after?”

Dean nods, then pauses, realizes what Cas just said, and nods again. “Yeah, I—yeah, I will.”

“There’s not enough alcohol here for you to pretend to forget this time,” he teases, but he’s smiling.

Dean flushes anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Cas shakes his head and pushes him a bit. “Apologize tomorrow. Go.”

“Okay.” Dean doesn’t move.

“Okay,” Cas replies.

“Okay,” Dean says, and leans down to kiss him again, a quick one, because he thinks maybe he can.

“Okay,” Cas repeats, but his tone is fond. “Go.”

“Okay,” Dean repeats back. But this time, he does.

The next day, after he aces his physics final, he doesn’t pretend to forget.