#answered sum questions bc i want to

[paperibbon]

smokey day

feysand x reader sum.: hazy early mornings with your two mates note: 18+ this is truly pwop.... a brief allusion to rhysand's SA but only brief and rlly an allusion but just thought i'd mention. this is a little treat bc i was gone for so effing long (2 months). this isn't the ink universe! totally diff "reader"

Traces of sunlight peak through the heavy velvet curtains, and a streak casts itself across your closed eyes. It’s morning, you’re sure of that, and you’ve slept well; fingers flitting across indents of fabric across your cheeks can attest. A small noise pulls itself from your chest as you adjust your body.

It's a slow pace you’re setting, neither of you truly chasing any fast and swift end, just simply rocking into each other in the early morning light. Rhys is deep inside you, a heavy heat that you can’t exactly ignore, and you doubt you’d want to. His lips are insistent anywhere he can reach, against your throat, in the divot between your jaw and your ear, over your heart, dotted across your cheeks as he rolls his hips deeper into you.

“Too early.” Rhys’s voice is a rumble, vibrating down your spine and curling like a languid cat in your gut. 

“You don’t know that.” You whisper into the morning air. Feyre’s still slumbering soundly, heavy puffs of air escaping her lips as she dreams, a pleasant smile playing on her face. You almost can’t take her beauty, the slope of her nose, the blush of her cheeks, the freckle by her mouth you can’t help but wish to lean forward and kiss her. Rhysand rumbles with soft laughter at the display of affection playing through your mind, kissing your shoulder once, twice. Your brain is hazy, your movements soft and smokey with the fog of sleep still clinging to the edges of you.

“I know everything.” His hands dip lower, cupping the roundness of your hip as his mouth grows more insistent, teeth scraping at the slope of your throat.

“Oh, do you?” It’s breathy, it’s all breathy. He feels insane, hands everywhere, thumb swiping over your chest, pinching at the peaked bud, his lips pressed to the notch where your neck connects to your shoulder.

Rhys’s dark answering ‘Mhm.’ sends chills down your back, and you gasp into the room as his teeth delve into your skin. With fluttering eyes, you push Rhysand back from you, blinking down at the picture he makes. His violet eyes are dark, familiar stars dotting his vision and winking up at you as he rakes them over your form. Your mate’s hair is rustled with sleep, spilling over his eyes and curling at his neck with the hazy heat of the room, dark and inky as the night sky, and in deep comparison with the peek of his teeth behind the lazy smirk that’s spread over his mouth. His tan chest is glistening with a sheen of sweat like moonlight, and when he catches your gaze, the muscles flex playfully. 

“Like what you see?” His voice is lilting, teasing. 

“Same question.” You cock your head with the false challenge, rolling your hips down forcefully. It pulls out a groan from him, his hands flexing, pressing into the skin of your hips.

Perfect. You hadn’t even felt him slip into your mind, but the shadowy presence fills the shape you’ve carved out for him almost completely, sharp claws teasingly tracing against your consciousness. It sends your eyes rolling back into your skull, his laughter dark, spilling across you like sticky molasses.

Without a word, he’s sitting up again, hand snaking around the back of your neck to press his lips to yours. You try to protest, swatting at his chest, sure he can taste the morning breath that lingers against your tongue, but Rhys just smirks, tracing the indents of your teeth with his own tongue. The kiss is languid, lazy, sleepy even, a sloppy press of mouths against each other with bleary eyes and a sticky warm room. With a deft buck of his strong hips, you let a long, high pitched whine trickle from your lips.

“Feels good, huh?” It’s a cocky, challenging comment, and you know he’s waiting for you to pitch something back at him like you have been, give as good as you’re getting, but at the moment you can’t find it in you, absorbed finally in the feeling. Your legs are shaky and trembling, so you’ve resorted to simply circling your hips against him, letting his length hit that wonderful spot he always seems to find. The sun is rising higher, the molten light casting the room in shiny gold. Rhys is beautiful, you decide, brows pinching together in pleasure as you look at him. The light makes him almost glow, dark skin rippling beneath the surface as he meets your meager thrusts with powerful ones of his own. He seems to be settling on a similar thought pattern, eyes soft with fondness. “Mother above, you’re so beautiful.”

“I agree.” Feyre’s voice jolts through you like fire, and you tilt your head to catch her sea blue eyes blinking blearily up at you with a petal-fine smile spread across her lips. You smile back, your spine attempting to bend in sick ways to bring yourself closer to her. With a laugh, she props herself up, allowing her lip to meet yours in a brief, but lovely kiss all the same.

“Welcome to the waking world, Feyre darling.” Rhys captures her hand in his, pressing it to his lips once, twice, three times without breaking any concentration in regards to you, little whines eking past your parted lips, sighs filling out the room with ease.

Feyre’s deft fingers drift from Rhys’s hand, pushing him back into the pillows, and you can feel the tension solidify. The look in Rhys’s eyes flickers, stars almost bursting with light as he tucks an arm under his head, bicep flexing, sharp jaw clenching as your other mate positions herself behind you, chin hooking over your shoulder and hand tracing across the soft skin of your inner thighs, letting her nails bite ever so slightly into your skin. You’re almost trembling for her touch, hips jolting in place in an attempt to coax her where you need her, and she laughs; a mean, sensual sound that pulls another eager sound from you.

“Ask nicely, sweet love.” Her words are whispered into your ear, lips brushing against your skin with every word. She’s everywhere now, both hands coasting over you with a feather-light touch, her mind pressing into yours with a familiar breezy feeling. You can feel her breathing against your back, feel her warm cheek in the very same crook of your neck Rhys had lavished with attention just a few minutes ago. She laughs lightly when your mind makes the connection, and she closes her lips around a spot and makes sure to leave a mark.

“Please.” It’s whiney, desperate, debauched. The room is muggy, humid, and you could almost slip away into it for the day, spending it with your mates just like this, Rhysand and Feyre, the High Lord and Lady of the terrible, fearsome Night Court with all their softened edges and loving caresses. 

Feyre’s fingers trail up from your thighs, hands warm and nails leaving little lines in their wake as she finally places them exactly where you need them. She presses down, circling widely against your clit, and a moan rips itself from you, and subsequently, from Rhysand as you tighten around him without much warning.

“Mother, you’re tight.” He whispers, almost absentmindedly and it’s utterly vulgar. A groan like an avalanche, like a thunderclap fills the room and Feyre laughs against your neck at him, her teeth nipping once again into your skin. You find a free hand threading into her golden hair, pressing her closer, closer, closer to you, until you aren’t really sure where she ends and you begin, her soft skin flushed with heat, red and pink and precious like the flowers sitting on your bedside table.

“Look at how fucked he is.” Pink lips whisper into your ear, your back arched perfectly beneath her hands. The lazy pattern you’d all shared has been forgotten, Rhysand’s hips pressing into you with abandon, Feyre’s deft fingers meeting his rhythm in tight little circles, pulling frequent sighs and pretty moans out of you, ones that she can’t help but play in her mind on a loop. Your head falls back onto her shoulders with a particularly swift thrust from your mate below you, and Feyre laughs again, syrupy and sweet and you can’t help but drown in it.

Rhysand truly does look fucked, a sinful smile playing at his lips, inky hair thoroughly mussed and slick against his forehead. You’re sure you look worse, heat coursing through you like a wildfire, flickering flames eating away at your insides, cheeks sure to be ruddy and sweat sticking your hair everywhere it hangs loose.

You look beautiful. Feyre’s a whisper in your consciousness, a cool breeze, a wave lapping at your shoreline. She pushes forth a mental image laden with her lust, fixated frames of your lips parted in pleasure, your chest flushed and heaving, the valley between your thighs, Rhysand tucked in between them. From the feelings she fills your mind with alone, you’re overwhelmed, not mentioning the feeling of her fingers against you, now drifting to encircle the spread of you over Rhys, a firm squeeze of her hand.

“Oh, fuck.” You gasp wetly, letting her hand slick with you return to her place as you all but topple forward with the answering thrust she’s met with. Now, she’s still, simply setting her palm against your heat, mouth brushing against the column of your neck yet again.

Rhysand catches you as you careen towards him, sitting up from his position and fixing your legs tightly around his midsection, forcing the hand between your thighs out of its temporary position. You’re much closer, much more in each other's orbit now, rather than lazily joining in a sleepy performance of your desires. His hand, strong and sure, cups the back of your neck, eyes scanning your face for any sort of discomfort. It’s twisted up, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, tears dotting the corners of your eyes. The question doesn’t even need to be whispered into the air, doesn’t need to be pushed into your mind; you can tell from the downturn of his lips, the way your other mate twines her fingers into yours, lays her head on your shoulder. The bond between you all is alight with more than just shared lust, more than passion; you feel the love like a warmth blossoming inside you. You feel the love like it’s always been there.

“I just really want to come.” Your voice breaks pitifully, sniffling softly. 

The serious moment shatters like ice as Rhysand snorts at the picture you’re sure you make; teary eyed, sweaty, and all his. Well, all his and all Feyre’s. 

“We can arrange that.” He answers with a chuckle, voice like the roots of a tree, like the rolling of clouds across the sun. In a second, you’re on your back against the pillows, propped up like a royal, with a god and goddess to do bidding with the flick of your hand. 

Rhysand enters you again with a slowness, teasing that whooshes a breath you didn’t know you were holding out all at once. Feyre is providing quite the show, chin hooked over his shoulder to peer at your joining. She’s a beauty in the light of the morning, hair shining like spun gold. Her sapphire gaze twinkles, a soft glow across her skin puts her in contrast with the tan male she’s slung over. 

Rhys curses as he sets a rhythm again, hooking your leg up and over his arm as he drives into you. It’s ecstasy, bliss, all wrapped up into this moment. Your eyebrows furrow again, letting out a whine that you’re sure could wake the whole of Velaris.

“Yeah?” He’s as cock-sure as the day is long, the teasing lilt of his voice could almost make you groan, but he’s cock-sure for a good reason. “Is that all you needed, pretty heart? A good fuck?”

When you nod, they both share a laugh, mocking and sweet at the same time, and a lesser version of you would be embarrassed at the depravity you gain from it. This version of you, this loved and fucked version of you is clawing for more, whining and moaning and weakly raising yourself to meet Rhysand as his thrusts become that much more sure, more pointed.

“So pretty, love. So, so beautiful for us.” Feyre is all honeyed, sultry words, but you can feel the bite of want from her, the sting of lust that comes through her bond. Rhys can surely feel it too, because he’s reeling back, hungry mouth meeting hers in a battle of lips and tongue. She almost melts into his mouth, hand coming to cradle his cheek and you sigh, a smile finding its way to your face. They’re beautiful together, one of Feyre’s paintings come to life in swirls of color and feeling. The two give and take like the Mother made them for it, made them to be each others.

She made you, too. Rhys is again smokey in your head. All for us.

As your lovers turn their attention to you, Rhys’s thumb pressing into your clit, Feyre’s warm gaze, and eventual hands coming to caress you into finishing, you can’t help but feel lucky for this life, this love. You and Rhysand finish within moments of each other, dirty words and promises chasing the high, and Feyre has you both between her thighs until she’s come twice, and you’ve come once more from Rhysand’s wandering hands. In the sun baked afterglow, your head heavy on Feyre’s stomach, her nails working delicately through your hair, you reach for the mating bond, the golden tether holding the three of you so tightly together. It flows through you like a river of heat, from the top of your head to your toes. There’s no feeling being projected down the channels other than sweet, true, and utter love.

[all444miles]

— IN HER OWN LIL’ WORLD

— paring: e!42 miles x black!fem!reader

— genre: fluff

— summary: you can chat for the world, so you tell it all to none other than your boyfriend.

— a/n: the way this is a self insert bc when i tell u i can CHATTTTTT 😭 this is pretty much inspired by the song “love is only a feeling” (hence the title, that “she’s so perfect in her lil world”) so you might see a bit of lyric references in it. writing ts at 2am got me TIRED than a mf, but enjoy !!

You were a natural talker. You could talk for hours without getting tired. You could talk for the whole world, even. So you tell everything you want to say to your world, Miles. Miles loved everything about you. But when you would talk to him non-stop, and the way you’d articulate your words? Made his whole day.

“She came up to me tryna start sum, and you know I wouldn’t take that shi, so I had to deal wit her.” you explained, sitting on your boyfriend’s lap, his hands on your waist, as you continued to tell the story you had been telling Miles about for the past 26 minutes.

“Mami, you fought her?” he asked, his head cocking to the side and his eyebrows furrowed. “Das crazy, ain’t I said if you got a problem tell me?” You never really knew how, but whenever a person would cause you problems, Miles would always find a way to sort it out.

You tried to think to yourself, before you realised what he said to you just a ago week ago, catching your breath as you did so.

“Aight ma, after that fight, if you got any more beef wit somebody, for a good reason, you come to me, you heard?”

“Oh yeah..” you could hear a soft sigh coming from Miles and watched as he slightly shook his head, which made you smile. “That’s my bad. But she still deserved that shit.”

“So ima take it you won? Or else ima be even more annoyed.” he questioned you, raising an eyebrow, engaging himself more into the conversation.

You chuckled at his question, and your answer made him grin. “Of course I did! You ain’t never gon see me lose a fight.”

“That’s my girl. Now, tell me the rest.” you smiled at Miles as he waited for you to continue. You were always a talkative person, and Miles would always be the one to listen.

“You sure I ain’t talking yo ear off, baby?” you laughed quietly as you spoke, feeling the slightest bit self-conscious that you were talking too much. Miles, however, laughed at what you said.

“Mami, you always do, but I love it.”

“Ahora, no dejes que te detenga amor, sigue hablándome.” (Now, don't let me stop you love, keep talking to me.)

© all444miles 2023. do not plagerize, copy, or repost my work in any way shape or form, without my permission.

likes, reblogs, comments and asks are always appreciated !

[pjsk-writin]

Hgrelp its like 11pm n i got baptised but anyways

Can i request hc's (+ a small lil story) of the pjsk boys with a gn reader who like nEEDS to hold something while resting in bed/sleeping bc they've always been sleeping with a plushie n it feels weird for them to not hold sum and then when the boys ask the reader they don't wanna admit it but like the nexy time the chara comes into the readers room theyre just like sleeping w/ a plushie n they go like "oh so thats why"

Tldr; gn! Reader who alaays clings onto character bc it feels weird not to hold a plushie -> when character asks why the reader doesnt admit it -> but when character comes into the readers room to jand oht they see them cuddling w/ a plushie -> character fibally realizes why

HSIDEJ TY

FBSMKSF HELP ? but omg this is so cute....I hope u like this !! <3

♡ CLINGING IN SLEEP - Akito Shinonome, Toya Aoyagi, Tsukasa Tenma and Rui Kamishiro x Reader

Akito:

He would never admit it to you, but Akito gets really flustered any time you cling onto him in your sleep-

It's one of the main reasons why he asks you actually. Not that he doesn't like it, he just hates when you wake up and see him all flustered-

Much to his surprise, you get pretty flustered when he asks, dodging his question with a small laugh. Well, now he needs to know-

His investigation always fails...Until the day you let him hang out at your house. He discovers it rather quickly

"Hey, babe? Do you have-" He walked into your room, finding you clinging onto a plushie like a lifeline. "...Oh."

He grins, stepping closer and looking at the plushie in your hands. He takes a picture to tease you about it, but a part of him can't stop thinking about how cute you look <3

Toya:

Toya might get flustered by you clinging onto him, but he finds that it's really nice actually...You always make him feel so warm

He asks you out of pure curiosity, not wanting you to stop persay, more wanting to know just in case he's ever not there for you to cling onto

You dodge his question in response, and he just drops it because he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable...

Luckily though, he gets the answer to his question when he hangs out at your house.

"Hon, are you okay?" He walked into your room, before pausing once he noticed you clinging onto a plushie, the exact same way you clung onto him. "Ah..."

He watched you sleep for a bit, before tucking you into bed properly, kissing your forehead and fixing the plushie in your hands. How adorable... <3

Tsukasa:

Tsukasa was absolutely ecstatic when he realized you cling onto him when you sleep. He loves affection, and it makes him happy any time you hug him close!

He asks you about it with a wide grin, finding the habit a cute little quirk of yours

You end up dodging his question, and he pesters you about it before huffing. Fine then, he'll find out! A future star can solve mysteries on his own!

He figures it out when you invite him to hang out, and he's ecstatic

"My favorite co-star! Are you?-" He cut himself off when he saw you clinging onto a plushie, and his eyes widened before sparkling at the sight. "Aha!"

He keeps quiet, tip-toeing up to your side to see the plushie you were clinging onto. He grins and pats your head and its head, already planning to show you his own plushies <3

Rui:

Rui absolutely melts whenever you cling onto him in your sleep. He tries to hide it, but the wide grin on his face shows it quite obviously.

He asks you about it one day to tease you, that same amused grin on his face as he asked you

You dodged his question, which made him poke and tease you even more about it. Don't worry, he's sure to find out soon...

And that he does, once he hangs out at your house one day

"Dearest, do you happen to have a screw?-" He paused once he saw you sleeping, clinging onto your plushie. "Oh my...What do we have here?"

He absolutely memorizes the plushie's look so that he can tease you about it, but he spends his time watching you with a small smile. He envies the plushie in that moment <3

[rizsu]

don't ignore me, snookums childe, al haitham, heizou.

sum. what happens when u dare ignore them

childe 'ajax'

★ quiz time! childe notices you've grown a little distant. now he turns on his thinking machine to assist him in this journey! while brainstorming ideas he came across three options, which one did he choose (5 points) ☆

a) he goes to your house with a bouquet of pink camellias.

b) stalks you for five days and then sends teucer to the café you're visiting to lure you back to him

c) pulls you into a random alley when you're strolling around and demands why you've been ignoring him

childe chose... option b!

he's the typa man to use his younger siblings (which you love) to deliver messages to you. so in conclusion, he dressed up teucer as a mail man and made him go over to your residence.

childe would use all petnames available to make you talk to him.

"honey munchkin, please talk to me my sweet lovely slime"

you honestly cannot ignore this man. he's too funny.

"oh? is that a giggle from my skrunky??"

he goes on with that for another two hours until you gave up.

alhaitham

notices immediately when you're ignoring him. will give you a side eye because why are you ignoring him?? + also wants to see how long you can go without talking to him so he plays along.

a fun fact: he cannot go long without being near you but his pride is too high to give up.

he gives up after a week and invites himself over to your dorm.

stomps his way over to your room and sits on your desk chair.

"hi. did you forget you have a boyfriend?" haitham probably said it more like a statement rather than a question tbh

you don't answer him at all & tries to leave the room so that results in a scoff from him.

wraps one hand around your waist and pulls you onto his lap.

"i don't know about you but i'm pretty sure i'm not a door."

you make the mistake of smiling and he teases you bc of that

"don't try me, haitham my sweet potato."

heizou shikanoin

pulls up to your house staring at the door with his hands on his hip. if you have a doorbell, he'll ring it until it no longer works..!

he doesn't care if the rain's gonna fall. heizou is standing there until you open that door.

the typa man to slide down the door with one hand beating his chest while the other wipes his invisible tears.

HONESTLY you didn't even notice he's outside....

when you open the door he either pulls a sad persona or looks at you up and down.

"now, y/n, my sugars, why are you ignoring me??"

you let him in (still ignoring) and he clings onto you until you give up.

[lnsfawwi]

bucky is anti-peggy: their relationships with steve and why bucky will always overshadow peggy as love interest

hardly anything novel but I have to get it out of my system. interpretations are strictly in-universe just to be fair. also seb headcanons are canon, I won't hear otherwise!

the difference between stucky and steggy can be summed up by their respective reactions to beefed-up Steve. someone on tumblr points out that these two scenes also serve as analogies of their relationships. steggy would always be about peggy reaching out, their relationship would be under the spotlight, be the center of attention while stucky is the reverse. I just want to add to that.

Peggy was literally dazzled, she tried to touch his naked body, she was eager to see what this body could do (sexually, among other things). that's the first time she saw steve as sexually attractive, the first time she saw steve at all if we are honest, and what she saw was this jacked-up version of him, an icon-to-be, someone whom steve never really accepted as himself. In essence, the first time she really paid attention to steve as the love interest, was the moment steve became someone else.

Bucky, who was tortured for days, if not weeks, still delirious, was confused bc that was not his steve, he probably didn't even think Steve was real at first. Bucky was experimented on, he likely knew there were similar human experiments aimed to enhance, he knew science like that was possible, but whose science? so that's the first question, 'what happened?' Steve joined the army, okay, so this was not forced onto him, probably. then the next thing he asked was, 'did it hurt?' he didn't care how strong it made Steve, he only wanted assurance that Steve was fine. like, what if the process hurt? what could bucky possibly do? nothing. it's not about whether it hurt, it was just bucky simply giving a shit about steve's wellbeing. we don't even need to get into the 'little kid from brooklyn' line.

peggy witnessed a magical transformation and was amazed by the eventual product but bucky saw his best friend who must've gotten through something excruciating. peggy could never fall in love with skinny steve when that's all bucky saw, until the very end (sebastian said bucky probably never got used to big steve).

another contrast would be the final plane crash. sebastian was asked whether Bucky would've gotten on that plane with Steve or stayed behind like Peggy. seb's answer is that Bucky would've tried to get on that plane cuz he felt responsible for steve, and he'd fall again.

the thing is that, had Bucky been on that plane, Steve never would've crashed it. he would've done anything to save Bucky. he didn't have to crash that plane which was canon (pointed out by rhodey). steve could've got out but he didn't. Bucky being there would've given him the motivation to do so. any other person would tbh, but only Bucky would be willing to be on that plane bc Peggy canonly wasn't. in addition to bucky's willingness to follow steve literally into the jaws of death, in this hypothetical scenario, Bucky would be the reason for Steve to live in catfa.

that leads to yet another contrast.

'just go! get out of here!' 'no, not without you!'

steve, who had no idea what he was capable of, jumped through fire for bucky.

'don't do this, there's still time, let me find a way...' 'a lot of people are gonna die if I don't do this, peggy. this's my choice.'

despite peggy's pleading, steve crashed the plane.

the word choice appeared several times in catfa. the first time was when peggy told philip that it was steve's choice (to die trying to save bucky). the second time was when peggy told steve that bucky made a choice (to die fighting with him). and the third time was when steve told peggy it was his choice (to sacrifice himself). it's no coincidence that each and every time the choice was each other, steve echoing the word at the end made it clear that he was doing this for bucky.

a relationship goes both ways. steve and bucky are canonly willing to, and did, die and live for each other. peggy simply doesn't have that level of impact on steve. in fact, steve literally repeatedly chose bucky over her in catfa.

put it simply, bucky and steve care more about each other than themselves, peggy didn't even care about skinny steve in that sense. she also literally couldn't because she only met skinny steve twice. briefly.

plus as I said previously bucky is the only one standing in between a traditional cishet hypermasculine image of steve and the real steve, peggy is the one element that fulfils the false image.

everything bucky is, peggy is the opposite. the differences quite literally result in different interpretations of steve. and who can say honestly that endgame steve is better than cap trilogy steve？

[woncon]

➳ bunnytalk

➶ bunny!jungkook x owner gn!reader ｡˚ °

-ˏ` ✎﹏ your hybrid is acting strange lately. When you're not enough to help, you call Seokjin over to check on Jungkook. The diagnosis is shocking.

➴ genre: hybrid au, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, vet!seokjin, shy!jk

: ̗̀➛ warnings: jk is a bunny hybrid, reader is anxious bc jk's sadness

⌨ :: 2.4K words ♡ ︵ . .

⁀➷ thanks to @wonsheep for helping me fix my grammar mistakes and for giving me advice how to convert a whole story into another language precisely °♡̷•.

➳ bts masterlist | main masterlist

You ran through the aisles of the store as if you were being chased. And you really were, but the thing giving you chase had already caught up: the gray anxiety was perched on your shoulders, pressing along your joints like a sloppy masseur.

Salad. No need for a doctor, just a salad.

This was your mantra, with which you tried to control the despair, to slow down the panic that insinuated into your blood. With trembling fingers, you shoved the right products into your basket, and then you were already scrambling for the next ingredient.

Carrot, lettuce, cucumber, tomato, purple cabbage, corn - as Jungkook likes it. As soon as you had everything, you hurried to the cash register. The marble screeched under your feet as you suddenly stopped to avoid bumping into the person in front of you in the line. The man turned to you in disdain, but that was the least of your concerns right then. You had to make the salad: that was the most important thing. The fact that you were dead tired, that you did not plan on coming to the store, what you wanted to do half an hour ago, or what the guy thinks is completely negligible.

The only person standing before you in line was that guy, and he didn't buy anything other than some yogurt, bread and beer, still, you felt that the slowing factors took too long. For example, the cashier boy who scanned the products you were about to buy with a broad half-smile.

"Light dinner?"

"Yeah. For my hybrid."

Before the boy could speak - forcing his phone number into your hand, asking for a date or keeping you there with questions or more words - you stuffed the last carrot into your bag, scattering the money in front of the other.

"Bye!"

You dashed out of the store into the early evening cool, and ran home.

You hoped something had changed, but no. Jungkook was still curled up on the sofa, unmoving. Taking one look at him was enough to increase your concerns. You threw yourself into the kitchen. The vegetables were scattered on the counter, the tools clattered from the drawer to them, and the water was gurgling noisly from the tap. Your hair and clothes stuck to your sweaty skin. Fear gripped your heart like a baby holding onto its mother.

No need for a doctor. I can solve it myself.

Although you worked hard, and almost cutting your skin in your rush, the encouraging thought meant less and less, your hope faded into inconceivability with the passing of time.

"Kook? What's wrong?" The boy could always turn to you with his problems, and this turned out to be valid the other way around as well. Jungkook's wise insight and cheerful attitude have helped you a lot since you started living together. In addition to the owner-hybrid relationship, you were also roommates and friends.

When you first saw Jungkook on the couch, you thought he was sleeping. In the beginning of you two living together, the boy often slept with his eyes open, closing them only after full trust had been established. By the way, this wouldn't have been the first time that he fell asleep on the couch. But this was different. You wanted to tuck him in, and the boy's gaze focused on you, then he stared ahead again, uninterested. He also blinked.

He wasn't asleep at all.

Jungkook didn't answer. You weren't freaked out yet. Jungkook had instinctive actions and behaviors, but he was unable to verbalize them. He once summed it up by saying that in such cases the rabbit is the master, who only communicates through action.

"If you can't talk about it, just nod or shake your head." You waited half a minute. "Did I hurt you with something?"

You were about to caress his arm, but Jungkook pushed you away before you could touch him. Then you understood, something really must have happened. Not only was the boy not in the mood, he didn't want any of your company either. This has never happened before. In addition, the warning signs were lining up: him cowering, ears flattened, rejecting your approach.

The boy's rabbit self emphasized his condition. You heard somewhere - in a documentary, from a doctor friend, or maybe from one of your exes, who knows - that rabbits can be sick and depressed if they show these symptoms and don't eat.

So you, as soon as you realized, you jumped up, pulled your coat back on as you had just taken it off, and whirled through the streets to make Jungkook's favorite salad. Because if he eats, you won't have to be afraid, you would be enough to help.

The meal was ready in twenty minutes. Sighing, you headed into the living room to regulate your breathing. You couldn't know if you were overreacting or if such intense distress was justified. You were sure of one thing: how important Jungkook is to you, along with his physical and mental health.

"Kook?" You knelt in front of the couch again, this time balancing the dish you prepared. The hybrid didn't even turn to look at you now. You felt your heart cramp up. "Please." You put your elbow on the edge of the couch, pushing the plate closer to him. "Eat up."

If something didn't happen then, you would have cried. But luckily, Jungkook reacted: his nose moved, crinkling sweetly. He smelled the salad. Then his eyes searched for the source of the scent, but his hands still didn't reach for it. You already considered this a big step forward, you were a little relieved: when you put the first bite in Jungkook's mouth, you felt better. Jungkook started chewing. The sounds of his munching was music to your ears.

You didn't speak, but the more the boy ate, the more lively he became. His black ears slowly rose, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position too. Jungkook put the last lettuce leaf and piece of carrot in his mouth with his own hand. You sat next to him and watched him happily. You didn't dare to touch him yet.

After finishing the meal and placing the bowl next to the couch, the hybrid crouched down next to you uncertainly, seemingly trying to say something, but in the end he just nudged your upper arm with his nose, pushed it, then ducked under, still poking the body part. Jungkook let you know in rabbit language that he needed care and caress. You smiled, running your fingers through the boy's hair, fluffy ears nuzzling your neck as Jungkook snuggled into your shoulders, his muscular arms wrapped around your waist, cuddling close. You caressed his face, his shoulders, all along his back. The bunny grinded his teeth in satisfaction.

Everything was resolved, order was restored, you thought.

You were wrong.

Whatever was weighing down on Jungkook's soul, the problem didn't go away, the salad was merely a distraction for him. You were confronted with this the next morning, as the boy curled up in a lethargic state on the edge of the bed. Somehow you knew that salad wasn't going to help anymore here. The boy's entire body tensed up as if he was an angry stone statue.

There was no question that you wouldn't go to work. You rang your boss in your pajamas to tell him you were taking the day off. The latter reacted with complete understanding. Immediately after the end of the conversation, you called your doctor friend to come over.

"Y/N, you know it takes two for a hybrid. A doctor specializing in humans and a veterinarian. I'm only the latter. Namjoon is currently operating, so you need to wait."

"You will be enough. I can't bring Kook in. He doesn't move, doesn't speak. I think he has more rabbit-like problems."

"Okay, I'll be there in twenty to twenty-five minutes. Stay with him until then."

"I'm not going anywhere."

You did as you said. You carelessly threw your phone on the couch and retreated to the bedroom, laying down next to Jungkook. You scanned his stiff back muscles, and now you were completely devastated because you didn't know how to help. You wanted to give him at least a comforting hug to let him know you were there for him, but your approach was rebuffed with a grunt. Jungkook didn't want any of your company again.

Seokjin arrived as he promised, but for you, time was slowed down by your own grinding agony and terrifying visions. Hearing the knocking, however, time jolted back a little into its place. You jumped up and ran to the door. The man came in a doctor's coat, carrying a bag.

"Come." You grabbed Seokjin's hand, who would've protested and said something about his shoes. "It doesn't matter, just come."

You basically dragged him into the bedroom. Like a melancholic painting, there Jungkook was: in rolled up blankets, just staring at the wall. No happy colors, just gray, black and sad blue.

"Please, help him!" You dropped onto the bed, whispering your plea to your guest, who nodded and approached the patient.

"Hi, Jungkook. I'm going to run some routine tests on you, okay?"

"In this current condition, he doesn't like to be touched." You warned Seokjin.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you." He put his hand on Jungkook's shoulder. The boy didn't react, just tolerated it.

Seokjin then checked his breathing, body temperature, and heart rate.

"That would be it, rest easy!" Seokjin headed outside and motioned for you to follow him with a jerk of his head. You obeyed. The man closed the door and settled down on the living room sofa. You sat down next to him, wringing your hands.

"What's up with him?"

"He's warm, but no fever. His heart rate is high, but that could also be from stress. I don't see any signs of sickness, but something really freaked him out. How long has he been like this?"

"I noticed yesterday when I came home that Jungkook was lying on the sofa and not moving. It's possible that he had been sitting like that for a long time. I made him a salad, then he got up and ate, but this morning he was curled up again."

"Didn't he get some sort of shock? Wasn't he acting strange before?"

You were about to say no when you remembered the past week and the incident the morning before.

"He pokes me a lot with his chin, bites me and licks my skin. Sometimes he even nips me. And after he got up yesterday, he ran around me like five times. In the meantime, he made a strange oinking sound."

You still remembered the boy's sparkling eyes when he stopped, his raised ears, his sniffing nose. His body stiffened with excitement. You didn't know how to react, so you just smiled and went to make your coffee.

And Seokjin started laughing. You stared at him in disbelief. The man snorted, still chuckling. You were about to punch him on the shoulder, but Seokjin - to his luck - spoke up.

"He loves you very much."

You knew that, you loved him too. But the way Seokjin emphasised his words somehow suggested something else.

"What do you mean?"

"You are his human owner. You act like one most of the time. To Jungkook, however, you are no longer just an owner. Biting and licking in rabbit language means a love confession. He also marked you with the scent glands under his chin as his property. And running means clear courtship. Since you didn't reciprocate that, he has to process that you rejected him, and it's hard when you're always around, wanting to touch him."

You had a revelation.

"I didn't know. If I had known - How can I undo it?"

"Why? You love him in the romantic sense?"

That was a pretty straightfoward question, but you knew the answer very well.

"Damn it! Yes! I'm head over heels for him. And yes, I do want to be with him. So how do I change my no to a yes?" All this flooded out of you: you were worried and nervous, you couldn't help it. You were at your wits end because of your own helplessness.

"Jungkook is not acting like a human right now. First, you have to make yourself understood by the rabbit living inside, only then you can tell the person your feelings. You have to become a rabbit and reciprocate the gestures with which he expressed himself to you."

Seokjin gave you instructions, then left. You were very grateful, but you couldn't express it properly yet, first you had to express something else to someone else.

You returned to the bedroom to confess to Jungkook with bunny talk. You laid down next to him again, this time taking care not to touch him with your hands, as you weren't needed as an owner or as a human. You swallowed nervously, then ventured closer to Jungkook's nape.

You bit him gently. Almost immediately after that, both of Jungkook's ears perked up, his body was tense in a different way: he was listening intently. Feeling thousands of butterflies with wings of hope in your body, you ventured further, licking along his artery. After this action, you moved away, blushing.

Jungkook sat up, facing you. His gaze was clear, peaceful, maybe a little disappointed, but mostly knowledge was visible in it.

"I love you."

"I know. Like a friend. I understand now."

"No." You scrambled to your feet, pulling him with you. You took some measurements to fit between Jungkook and the bed, moving him to the position you wanted to.

Then you ran around him several times, trying to imitate the strange sound that Jungkook also made, the kind of cooing.

When you stopped, your heart was pounding like a speeding train... Or like a rabbit hybrid who had just confessed their love.

"I love you," you whispered weakly. "I love you in this sense."

A huge grin appeared on Jungkook's face as he suddenly took you in his arms, spinning you around in the room and then finally threw himself along with you onto the bed.

In his happiness, he also did something that you as his owner and as a human immediately understood: he kissed you. Tenderly, softly, truly in love, and at the same time he held your face in the palm of his hand. As he leaned away, he covered his flushed face with his fluffy ears. He laughed.

"Kook..."

You were beautiful with a pleading blush. And your heart belonged to Jungkook.

So he kissed you again.

[slytherinboysappreciation]

Hello! It's me againn and guess what 😈😈 Yes! I got another idea for Tom Riddle and m!reader 😋😋

Ekhem- so basically Tom was assigned to tutor this boy who was known for his lack of effort in class, he would sleep nor just ditched out the classes. So, as a nice Headboy he was, Tom decided to accept the task to tutor the boy and behold! The boy just sleeping the whole time Tom explain smth to him. So yeah Tom's mad n reader was like "Huh why r u mad? I don't even need tutor in the 1st place..." So Tom's gotten more mad 😔 and reader would like 🧍‍♂️

AHAHAHA n then as an apology, reader shows up to Tom after the exam ended n gave him his exam papers and oh boy this mf got O (Outstanding) for all the subjects, turns out the reader is able to do the school works from the beginning but he just won't do it bc he's a lazy ass bitch. Then Tom's reaction would be "🧍‍♂️...Yeah, i need those genes for my kids 😍"

THIS IS SO MESSY LMAO im sorry here's sum oranges for ur wonderful writing 🍊🍊🍊

Tutoring - T. R. x male!Reader

A/N: Thank you so much!! I love seeing you in my ask box! I hope this is what you were wanting 💛 Sorry about the ending lol. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to end it well.

I think I tagged everything, but let me know if I missed something! Fic is unedited with no use of Y/N

Anyway, have some hearts for sending me so many amazing requests! 💛💛💛💛

CW: Tom being fed up; anger; laziness; yelling; Tom gets fairly upset in this; somewhat mean words towards the reader; making up; brief compliment towards Tom; Abraxas and Tom are friends in this; Tom gets a little bit obsessed with reader; Tom’s evil plans

1144 words

It was a little known fact that Tom loved tutoring. For more selfish reasons than he’d care to admit, but he loved it all the same.

It was the rush of power he felt when a teacher came to him on behalf of yet another student. It was the pride when a student finally understood the material.

It was even the knowledge that Tom was smarter than most of the students at Hogwarts.

And yet, for all his love of tutoring, he was seriously debating quitting.

Why?

The answer was simple. You.

Tom had agreed to tutor you as a favor to Professor Slughorn. It wasn’t even for extra credit; a rare occasion of Tom being nice.

The professor was clearly fed up with you, and Tom was more than willing to take on a challenge.

And oh, what a challenge you were.

You were late to your first tutoring session, completely missed the second one, and slept through the third one.

You’d apologized, of course; but by the fourth tutoring session, it was clear you just didn’t have the motivation to study.

And it infuriated Tom.

He’d never failed as a tutor before, and he certainly wasn’t going to fail now.

When your eyes start to droop for the third time in ten minutes during your next study session, Tom’s patience runs out.

“Were you attending a party last night?” he demands, hands clenched. “What in Merlin’s name could have made you so tired?”

You startle, blearily lifting your head and rubbing at your eyes. “You think I’m cool enough to attend a party?”

It sounds like a genuine question, one Tom refuses to answer.

“What. Kept. You. Up?”

“My roommates.” You yawn and settle back into your seat. “They were having fun or something. Bein’ loud. Kept me up most of the night.”

Tom’s fists unclench. He takes a deep breath. “And do they do this every night?”

“Well… sort of…?” You fiddle with your quill. “Not every night, but…”

Tom pinches the bridge of his nose. “Talk to your Head of House about it. They’ll deal with your noisy roommates.”

“Alright.” You give him a small smile. Tom doesn’t return it.

“Now, for your potions essay…”

You slump in your seat.

But Tom counts it as a win when it takes you a few minutes longer than usual before your head starts drooping again.

You’re falling asleep yet again, and Tom has had it with you.

He slams the potions guide down on the table, startling you awake.

“Merlin, what the—“

“What—“ Tom seethes, “—is wrong with you?”

You blink, clearly taken aback. “Uhhh…”

“I have done my absolute best to ensure you don’t fail your exams next week, and you have done nothing but laze about and sleep!”

“Look, Riddle, just chill out.” You hold up your hands placatingly, giving him a weak smile. “I don’t get why you’re so upset. Professor Slughorn said you wanted to tutor me.”

“Well, not anymore! I am through with you!” Tom stands, fists clenched. “You have driven me to my wit’s end! If you’re not going to bother even trying to focus, I’m not going to bother trying to help you!”

“Hey—“

“I quit!” Tom snaps.

You stare at him, stunned. Then you cross your arms. “Well, fine! Merlin knows I never needed a tutor in the first place!”

Tom glares at you and angrily gathers his things.

It doesn’t feel good to quit. But he’s never felt so helpless before. You just simply seem to refuse to learn.

As he stalks away, though, there’s an odd pull at his heart. Maybe it was something about the unhappiness in your eyes. Or the way your fingers trembled as they gripped your quill.

Whatever it was, Tom squashes the feeling like a bug. He’s done with you. Not even a favor from Slughorn could tempt him to take you on again.

Of that, he is certain.

Tom’s sitting with Abraxas in the main hall, celebrating his exam scores. All Outstandings and Exceeds Expectations, even for Divination and Herbology.

He’s particularly proud of his O in Potions, proof that he knows the material well.

He’s just about to bite into a pumpkin pastry when there’s a soft cough behind him.

He turns, raising an eyebrow. It’s you, looking quite sheepish.

“Hey, Riddle.”

Tom purses his lips together thinly and crosses his arms. “Hello.”

You shuffle your feet and rub the back of your neck. “I know you were really mad at me,” you mumble, “But I wanted to explain myself a bit…”

“Then explain.”

You take a deep breath and pull a piece of paper from your pocket. It’s your report card for the exams.

Tom takes it, expecting to see some sort of dismal grade requiring his assistance.

But instead, what greets him is the best set of scores he’s ever seen. All Outstandings, in every class.

Tom stares at the report card, utterly baffled. “What?”

You rub the back of your neck again, not meeting his gaze. “I told you, I didn’t need a tutor. I can do the work. I just don’t like it.”

Tom slowly looks up from the report card. “You… just don’t like it…?”

You shrug. “Schoolwork’s boring. I’d rather do something else instead.”

Tom’s brain is a whirl. You were capable of doing the coursework already. More so, you knew everything well enough to get Outstandings in every class, something even he failed to do.

Tom hands you back your report card. “I owe you an apology then.”

“Nah,” you laugh softly and shuffle your feet. “Don’t worry about it. ‘Sides, you’re kinda cute all angry ‘n’ stuff.”

Tom blinks. You shrug and give him an awkward smile. “See you around, Riddle.”

“Right…” He watches as you walk away.

Then he turns quickly to Abraxas. “Malfoy, he had all Outstandings.”

Abraxas glances at him once, then does a double take. “Oh, no. I know that look. What are you planning?”

Tom grins. “Surely you see it? A brain that smart, when paired with my cunning? We’d be unstoppable.”

Abraxas glances at where you’d been standing. “Tom, I don’t know about this…”

But Tom’s mind is already at work. You already thought he was cute once… With the right sort of manipulation, perhaps he could get you to think it again.

Perhaps he could get you to fall in love with him.

“Just think about it, Malfoy. Our children would be geniuses!”

Abraxas just sighs. He shakes his head, but Tom ignores him. His plan is forming in his mind; his perfect plan to get you to fall in love with him.

With only a little bit of persuasion, he’ll get you to fall in love with him. And then you’ll be his lover forever. The other half to his genius.

And then all his plans will be perfected.

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Hello! i was wondering if you could write me a req bc i saw your reqs r open (bc I ✨respectfully✨ suck booty at writing)

basically, reader made friends with Ghost while working together on deployment, and became friends, they hang out sometimes bc they live kinda close, blah blah blah. then, Ghost doesn't hear from reader in months (which isn't normal, bc they text like once a month, just to make sure one another is okay when they can). then, one day, in the middle of a meeting Ghost gets a call from an unfamiliar number and almost ignores it until he sees that the area code is the one reader lives in, so he decides to answer it. boom, guess what? the reader is in the hospital, sustained r/srs injuries, and is in need of emergency surgery, and the reader made Ghost the emergency contact (lets also say they traded dog tags bc fluff?)

homie gets all sad bc Reader might die and is in a mini coma, blah blah blah, realized he r in love w the reader, and uh

you can decide whether or not the reader dies and what happens next

i fr scream YIPEEE when i saw your req open, i adore your writing, like top tear, makes me cry but laugh and scream bc how are you so good?! srs, im so jelly of your writing! okay anyways, hope you have a lovely day, you dont have to do this is you dont want or if im jus a silly fucker and mis read and your reqs r closed or sum

Hellloooo! Thank you SO MUCH for the beautiful compliments and for this request <3 I loved it so much I started writing the day you sent it to me. But since it's very emotionally charged, it took me a little while to finish and I'm sorry bout that, and I rly hope you're still around and eager to read it!!! Well, there it is, my take on ur req, hope you like it.

Take me back (to the night we met) | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

✦Word count: 2.1k ✦ Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley xf!reader ✦Summary: Simon gets a call from the hospital saying that you are hospitalized, in a coma and in great life risk. ✦ TW and general warnings: sensitive topics, lots of angst, fluff though, death implications, open ending, sad af read at ur own risks cuz i'm crying in my room rn;

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met

“Johnny and I make our entrances fast. I clear the way, he goes front, three of you get in by the back and we surround the site to get enough space for the hostages to come out. Any questions?” Ghost asks sternly, as is the usual of his tone especially coming down to work. He was being brutally professional at the moment - if there was rather a sign of an existing Simon, it was gone the moment he got inside the briefing room. Silence follows for the next seconds while the crew seems to be pondering over what he said, analyzing the map over the big round table sticking to the center of the room.

As it is expected, no questions. He nods with his head assuming by the silence that they’re all understood.

“Our orders are to neutralize any individual we find on the site whose face doesn’t match with our hostages, which means we do it fast before they get the chance to call for reinforcements. We don’t wanna make a mess out of this.” Price then continues his own talking, marking X’s over the tactic map and giving the next orders to every one of them. It is when Gaz opens his mouth to say something, that Simon’s phone rings for the third time in a row. He curses mentally - he muted his phone the first time; now, it was vibrating in his pocket. Awkwardly, the vibration itself is heard by everyone in the room and they turn their eyes on him almost instantly.

“Hell.” He curses out in a low voice before shaking his head. “My apologies, Captain.” His voice tries its best not to come out too annoyed, but he fails and it does; despite the timing being inconvenient, no one seems to be bothered. Johnny furrows his brows in concern, and looks over at Price, who seems to have the same, perhaps even more intense, look on his face.

Ghost mentions to pull out and turn off his phone once again, but Price is quick to intervene.

“Riley.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Third time in a row; seems like somethin’ serious, get out and pick up.” He states comprehensively.

Despite being slightly reluctant, Ghost agrees - it must be something serious. What, he couldn't come to imagine - but if for a moment in his life he had something close to a hunch, it was now, and it said he should take that call.

“Alright, one minute. Move on without me.” He nods and leaves the room, phone in hand and a worried sigh leaving his nostrils. When the door closes behind him and he walks a bit further down the hallway, he picks up.

“Yes?”

“Is this Lieutenant Simon Riley?” A feminine voice asks from the other side. Sounds in the background, beeps and small, muffled voices.

“Affirmative, who’s this?” He frowns.

“This is from the Special Forces Manchester Hospital, are you familiar with the name- hmm…” She seems to be taking a couple seconds to read, and continues saying your name. 

He freezes in place.

How long has it been since he last heard this name? How long has it been since you vanished like thin air, disappeared, stopped calling or answering? Busy. That’s what he thought. Busy with work, busy with anything. The two of you had always been two busy people, in a desperate need for time.

For a moment, in those torturous seconds of silence, Simon found himself praying to a God he wasn't even sure he believed in, that this nurse wouldn't tell him you’re dead.

“Yes.” It’s all he manages to say, with his eyes running down to the ground in a dead stare. Dead eyes. He gulps, after the despair in his chest makes him speak once again, “Why?”

“Well- sir, you’re her emergency number, we’re calling because we couldn’t manage any family members… She’s in a coma. She was severely injured in combat, and [...]”

His heart stops, like it never did before. He doesn't react, his eyes look around as if he's searching for something - as if searching for his own reaction hidden somewhere within that empty hallway. The weight of your dog tag around his neck seems to be suffocating him now. 

To his silence, the woman continues.

“[...] it’s… currently sort of impossible to predict her state within the next few days, she’s fighting but struggling lots; can you come over?” 

“Yes.” He sharply replies, immediately. His eyes are still on the ground as he closes his eyes, and nods. “I’ll be on my way, yes.” 

“Good.” She replies, and he turns off.

For a moment, he stops to breathe; Ghost wipes his hand over his mouth in a somewhat guilty expression, he should have reached for you. He should have reached you the instant he missed you, your calls. 

“Hell…” He shuts his eyes for a moment, his heart stings like he’s poisoned, it hurts - some sort of pain he swears to god, he probably never felt before. Not when he lost his training dog, nor when he lost friends before - maybe because there were always a lingering possibility between the two of you. It was nothing but a friendship, never had been - but every word, every phrase was full of underlines of sentiment, an immense desire to reveal his interior and spit out the fears he refused to speak about to anyone else.

It's the possibility that kills him now. Even after all this time, not for a second did you cease to exist in his troubled and saddened mind. Suppressed by all the worries and feelings he thought were more important than you.

Not for a moment did he stop thinking about that pleasant end to his career, the retirement he knew he deserved, a house at least isolated from the rest of the world with trees and streams, the snow falling when winter comes and the sun scorching the land. land when summer finally arrived. You, on the front porch. 

You.  You.

When the night was full of terrors And your eyes were filled with tears When you had not touched me yet Oh, take me back to the night we met

You were leaning back on the sofa, your legs stretched out by the small table that marked the space between you and the balcony railing of his apartment.

The rain fell calmly, some thunder, but few drops. The sound of them falling against the roofs of the houses below the level where you were was echoing in your ears, and he seemed busy drawing patterns among the heavy clouds that covered the sky. 

He gave up trying to find any stars in that rainy sky and found comfort in finding your eyes instead. They were already watching him, almost expecting him to say something, even though the silence between two of you usually speaks volumes more than words itself; you’ve never been good with them, much less him. 

Simon looked down at your dog tag, lying brightly on your bust exposed by the tank top you wore. 

“What do you want to do after retiring?” He asked, his voice calm, his eyes almost closed. He took your necklace between his fingers calmly, and watched your shiny name exposed on the icy metal.

“Gotta be honest with you, can’t see myself retiring.” You replied, with your usual brutal honesty - something he particularly always liked so much about you. “What about you?” 

You don’t mind him, you allow.

“Don’t know.” He was, too, brutally honest. “Seek fuckin’ forgiveness for my sins before I die and end up in hell, I suppose.” 

You laughed.

“Oh, fuck. Gonna die trying to find that, mate.” You admit, raising your eyebrows in another big sip of your beer. “We’re all going to hell… At least we’ll all party there together.” You sounded fun, and your eyes turned into little lines with the genuine smile you let out when noticed that he too laughed at your joke. 

“We’re partyin’? Tell me Johnny isn’t going…”

“He’s my first guest.” You laugh harder.

“Thought that’d be me.” 

“You hate parties.” You raised your eyebrows.

“I don’t hate you.”

You silently smiled and looked away. 

“Fair enough.”

When it came to the two of you, there was nothing but connotation.

You could spend hours in that apartment alone with him - and you did. Did plenty of times, and yet, among subtle touches and heartfelt conversations, the end would be the same. Not in his bed, not in yours: by the door, with a rueful look and smile on your face. 

With a held back hug you never gave, a held back kiss you never allowed and an uncertain goodbye before departing on a mission that could take your or his life.

There was a phone call, once.

He called you late in the night. He was drunk. Too drunk. 

“I’m scared.” His voice was low, fluttering, like those cold days he’d be waiting for his dad’s arrival in his bed, under the covers, terrified and alone. “I’m scared. Can- can I see you? Can I come over, please?” 

As you hugged him on the couch in your own apartment now - that huge, strong, self-sufficient man collapsing in your lap like a baby in need of comfort, your heart was never right about anything like it was right about loving him. In that moment you knew it, you were fucking lost, taken, desperately in love.

You departed; you gave him your dog tag, he gave you his. A memory, an attempt. Do not forget me, you said. Don’t you dare forget me if I die, Simon Riley.

“I didn’t.” 

He looks at you with regret. The devices that help you breathe keep him from seeing you fully, whole - but still behind all those hospital beeps and sounds, you're still as beautiful as the first time he saw you.

He wants to go back to the past. Reverse everything he did, redo it from scratch; the first time he saw you, the first time he felt his heart ache listening to you talk about another man, all the times he repressed his feelings and swore not to love you.

“I want to be with you.” He mutters, his eyes emptily stare down your almost lifeless hand resting over his. “After I retire. I want to be with you.” He says again, closing his eyes, shutting them tight like he’s trying his very best to repress the tears he wants so bad to let fall. 

“I fuckin’ need you- I- how did this happen, how did you…” He gasps as the clock ticks, low, the sound of the hands ringing like doomsday inside his head. Every second that passed was one less with you. There are twenty minutes left for you to enter that operating room, and maybe you’ll never leave it again.

His eyes water and his legs give out, he kneels beside the bed, his suppressed voice sounding like a low, painful moan. The cry of a child who lost everything he had; of a confused teenager who would become a soldier, cold, dead inside, incapable of love - who loved you. Who loves you. “I’m scared. I’m scared- I love you.” He’d mutter, praying to all known gods to not take you. Take anything, anything from me; anything but her.

When the doctors came into the room and hurriedly moved your gurney to the ward in a desperate attempt to get your heart working again with the transplant, Simon sat in the waiting room with his face buried in his hands, his legs trembling. and the false hope that you would come back.

That you’ll be on that front porch, resting ever so happily, a bottle of beer in your hand and the dogs running around. He will have gotten rid of the mask and the habit of wearing it and you’ll be happy. You’ll be happy. You’ll be alive.

“God, please.” He mutters. “You’ve taken so much from me, now please, not this.”

He stands up as the doctor calls his name, with his heart on his hand and regret flashing his face off, he just wants another minute with you, another second with you, enough seconds so he can tell you he love you - he had, for most of his life and now, and he will, for the rest of his days with or without you.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met.

[hed-romancer]

season 5 episode 3 of camp camp was amazing, actually

okay so i didn't really like season 5 episode 1, and episode 2 while better, was pretty mediocre to me. Nothing funny, nothing that really moved character interactions forward (besides the slip that david is upset gwen isn't a counselor), some stuff that felt out of character (david doesn't seem the type to worry if he's a good counselor or not so much as worry about literally anything else), and some stuff that was supposed to be funny but was actually unfunny and out of character (the campers choosing to try to open the freezer before even letting anyone know about the cave in). It really was just okay, and only that good bc i love anxious!david

episode 3, however, was absolutely wonderful.

on one hand, you have some of the greatest jokes of the series (david switching over to word associations after explaining exactly nothing, the cut back to the boys where david is taking notes on something nurf is saying, nerris immediately thinking someone born in 1985 must be dead now) (though i'm not exactly a fan of the implication that cj is a child predator being played as a joke).

On the other hand, you have honestly one of the best portrayals of what its like being a tween/young teen girl in media.

ered doesn't know what she's doing, and feels unprepared by her two dads to become a woman, so she goes to gwen to ask for advice, who she thinks is a cool adult woman but is also just so happy to be thought of as cool that she's not even sure what she's agreeing to do. ered asks all the questions she hasn't been able to ask, and gwen realizes quickly she doesn't have all the answers, but still fakes it anyway.

nerris goes off and finds the diary of a kid named jessie, and as they read it they feels seen in a way they never have before. they read more and falls in love with jessie, only to realize that jessie was a kid in 1985, and concludes jessie must be dead by now.

nikki ends up at a spa, and tries new "girly" things, that she previously derided, and finds them enjoyable. once she sees the sum of all the ways she's changed herself, she panics, and realizes she's looking like what she used to hate. how can she still be herself if she's enjoying this?

nikki and nerris go running to ered and gwen for advice, and gwen says "goddammit". ered, realizing that gwen doesn't know anything either, takes helping the younger two on her own. she tells nerris that feeling lost and unsure doesn't mean you're alone, that we've all felt that way. she tells nikki that while its okay to question who she is sometimes, she can be whoever she wants to be and the questioning doesn't make her any less herself.

and it's just chef's kiss. nerris getting a first(?) queer love and realizing it's not gonna happen and not knowing how to handle the heartbreak because it's their first time experiencing it. nikki exploring femininity and realizing it can be enjoyable, even if its not what she usually does, just for her own sake. ered realizing older women don't have it figured out either, and even if she doesn't know everything, she's still gonna step up and help the younger two out. i just love it.

it's literally what becoming an older girl/enby is like. trying to figure it out, helping others try to figure it out, realizing those older than you haven't figured it out either.

[sgiandubh]

Why is it that it *urks* me S so easily plays the narrative with these porn loving young girls?! All he works for and accomplishes, he disrespects himself allowing his reputation to be linked to those kind of very young women. How can it be okay for him to let people believe he is a *man whore* (as the group of so called haters say)? It's not like they could still play the narrative with a beautiful woman that does not post her body parts all over social media!! I just feel like everytime they link him with one of those women, I lose a little more respect for him. For me, it also takes away from the love I've always seen between him and C. Ugh! I feel crazy for it bothering me! Am I the only one?!

Dear Bothered Anon,

I am sorry for the substantial delay. Flu happened still, and I wanted to have a clearer and rested mind in order to properly answer your question.

I shall again be brutally honest and say I really don't care at this point what brought you here: sincerity or elicitation of shippers' reactions on this very meh week-end. It doesn't really matter, either: but since Mordor is regularly accusing us of spoliation of evidence, I thought your submission deserved a careful answer. I know that annoys the shit out of them, too - not gonna lie, I am always pleased to oblige.

For our readers that have a normal life and were not here for Marple's midnight stalking session, here goes a summing-up of the facts (I hope you don't mind):

A video snippet of what is probably a more extended FaceTime conversation between S and Amanda Tutschek ( https://paintedpeachla.com/), a topless artist and painting tutor (100 USD/hour/class) from Vancouver, BC (but currently active in Venice Beach, Ca.) surfaced on Marple's account, supposedly dropped in her DMs by a good Samaritan. It is a nine second snippet ("... yeah...I was gonna put this one up here... but so funny... I was literally doing this yesterday and I was thinking about you...") with the comment: "Pimping out @samheughan's walls in Ireland (IE flag emoji)". It stayed on Tutschek's Instagram account for about four hours and then was promptly erased.

You start by telling me "S is playing the narrative with" the #silly calendar girls crowd. Is he, in this instance and if so, how can you (or anybody) be so sure?

Two scenarios are at play here:

First scenario: S/his people leaked this on purpose. Therefore, S is a troll.

Second scenario: Tutschek posted it as an Instastory on purpose. Therefore, S is a victim.

If S is trolling the fandom and I believe he is (only not now and not like this), why would he leak this on purpose? To emphatically let us know they're 'obviously not together'? To stir the pot between Queen *urv and Marple? To consolidate his man whore image, just when he was taking part in a critically important event in New York? I can understand the Lord of the Rings rigmarole (grinned for days), but assuming he is behind this strange snippet would be stretching the fabric of facts a bit too much, to my taste.

Also, despite *urv's delirious opinion ("he had a bedroom voice"), I think he just sounded tired and vaguely friendly: yes, I do think it's his voice. Not earlier than Friday evening, I received a video call on Fb from M, a (Taurus, hehe) former high school mate and one of my best friends. She always makes a point of telling me stuff like "I was buying grapes at the farmer's market and thought about you, how you absolutely hate them, so I called"/"I am at the Opera with Professor So-and-So, I told him about my brilliant friend in Athens, wanna say hi ?" That doesn't mean M wants me, the woman is happily married with two teenage boys. But she is a kind soul, with a superb understanding about what a friend really means (including being candidly obnoxious and immediately forgiven for it).

If Tutschek posted it out of her own accord on Insta, the reason would be simple: coat-tailing for clicks, shits and giggles. The insistent Ireland reference would point to that: I mean, the woman scrolled all the way down to the flag emojis to make sure we got the point (and in the process, more innuendo, mayhap). That would also explain why she promptly took it down: either because she realized somehow she pushed things a smidge too far or because she was strongly encouraged to cut the crap.

Seriously, whatever. This is just another episode of low-cost fuckery, irrespective of the two possibilities I just discussed. Her art is not as memorable as the bosom she generously shares with the world. It is borderline depressing and nothing to write home about, if you ask me. And the fact that the fandom quickly placed her in the same social circle with Quarantein Gia and Paparazzi Clarke, well... another major eyeroll, just here. The expected effect was exactly the one you described: to quietly gnaw at people's respect of S and also to chip a bit more of the fairytale.

This will happen only if you let them. These people, whoever they are, cannot challenge your reason, because there is nothing interesting or even logical about idiotic tidbits like this one. But they can and they are challenging and playing with your emotions, in order to instill doubt, insecurity, fear or disgust. I will not discuss Marple's editorial policy here (like her legally disingenuous use of someone else's material), simply because I do not want to give that derailed jukebox further space on my page. It is my sensible choice not to let these people in my world more than they deserve to be (very little). Maybe you should try it too, Anon. It could work for you as it did for me, once I came to terms with it.

I am not even sorry about the length of this answer. Haters gonna hate. I could not care less. Thanks for dropping by.

[i-want-my-iwtv]

How do you interpret the Louis vampire transformation in the book, not the show. It seems very sexual from my understanding although Lestat is a complete a**hole. I'm starting to reread the books again it's been awhile.

…"Are we close to God when we create something out of nothing? When we pretend we are the tiny flame and we make other flames?"

nansorella, this question could be an essay answer 💗! I'm glad to hear you're rereading the books, definitely try to get through TOBT if you can, that's where the above quote came from. There's a lot of layers with Lestat giving the Dark Gift to Louis. But I'll try to keep this as short as I can, and we can always delve further in a follow up ;}

[^X by @xxhellonursexx, read the caption on that bc it's in line with my answer on this ask! Vampiric feeding could be compared to breastfeeding, but specifically their turning is really the most comparable, a child feeding on the nutrition from their parent's own body.]

Focusing on the book, yes, my reading is that it's intentionally very sexual (even complete a**holes can be capable of sex!). Since vampires can't get pregnant, the Dark Gift is their method of sexual reproduction; I would argue that it's the most intimate act they can perform. Yes Lestat is being more than a bit of an a**hole in that moment but I can excuse it partly bc it was AR's first time writing a vampire turning and Lestat was for sure the main antagonist in that story, so he had to be sassy/cruel even in what should have been a loving moment but that's another entire discussion. Ppl can be awful during the act of giving birth, too, so... yeah... I would also argue that the '94 movie softened that scene somewhat, Lestat was positively thrilled about doing it and wasn't awful to Louis (except for when he had to break away from Louis, but that's also comparable to childbirth, which has pain involved for sure, and then you can see how sexually gratified he is laying back and watching Louis transform after they separate so ANYWAY!).

Since Lestat has so many fledglings, it was kind of a fandom joke that every time X sound occurs, Lestat makes another fledgling... maybe it's because he gets so much pleasure out of performing the act itself, and, transforming someone into a vampire, he gains a kind of parental and creative ownership of that person. It's his blood in them, after all!

Louis describes the act of killing as being a celebration of his making, (my bold & italics emphasis added):

"Killing is no ordinary act," said the vampire. "One doesn't simply glut oneself on blood." He shook his head. "It is the experience of another's life for certain, and often the experience of the loss of that life through the blood, slowly. It is again and again the experience of that loss of my own life, which I experienced when I sucked the blood from Lestat's wrist and felt his heart pound with my heart. It is again and again a celebration of that experience; because for vampires that is the ultimate experience."

[X for a great gifset of this quote by @fetch-me-a-block]

And then in Tale of the Body Thief, Lestat's reflecting on the creation of Claudia in a similar way to how ppl talk about the creation of their children:

[^X St. Patrick’s Cathedral, NYC, 11/7/15.]

“I lifted the long wax wick, dipped it into an old flame, and carried the fire to a fresh candle, watched the little tongue grow orange and bright. What a miracle, I thought. One tiny flame could make so many other flames; one tiny flame could set afire a whole world. Why, I had, with this simple gesture, actually increased the sum total of light in the universe, had I not? …«But why, Lestat?» Because she was beautiful, because she was dying, because I wanted to see if it would work. Because nobody wanted her and she was there, and I picked her up and held her in my arms. Because it was something I could accomplish, like the little candle flame in the church making another flame and still retaining its own light - my way of creating, my only way, don’t you see? One moment there were two of us, and then we were three. …«Are we close to God when we create something out of nothing? When we pretend we are the tiny flame and we make other flames?»

That book has an undercurrent of Claudia haunting Lestat (possibly as a ghost, but possibly as just his own imaginary manifestation of her) and pestering him about why he created her, maybe trying to provoke him into an apology, and I feel like he's able to make peace with her in his ruminations about her in that book. This is why I encourage ppl to read the canon books, even on beyond the first 3, because there are gems like this that add a richness to the characters, we can explore them along with Anne Rice 💗💗💗

[ghost-bxrd]

Ok so I’ve seen your thoughts on Talia being a good mom to both Jason and Damian and generally being a better person vs when she’s morally gray and really only good to Damian, but how do you feel about Bruce being a bad dad? Like personally I don’t like him being abusive but unfortunately…canon does not disprove it 😕🫠. Like do you have hcs or prompts where he switches from one interpretation to the other? Genuinely curious bc my thoughts on him going between these two have me conflicted bc I don’t LIKE him being a bad father, specifically in regards to Jason, but it does kinda fuel some ‘Jason leaves the batfam to go find himself’ stories I’ve seen, but you could argue that Bruce doesn’t NEED to be terrible for that to happen. Idk maybe modern comics have poisoned my ability to ignore Bruce’s history of abusing his children in some way by cranking up that abuse to a solid 20/10 (I’m sure I don’t have to mention what I’m referencing lmao), but it just makes me think. So much would be nicer if he was just a flawed father, but that’s not what his character fully is y’know (this is why I brought up Talia, just realized I was rambling without making that clear lol)

Phew ok, I’ll try to answer this to the best of my abilities!

So keep in mind that these are my personal thoughts and I’m actually not that well versed in comic lore (the comics I’ve read can be counted on one hand sadly but I’m trying to get my hands on more ksksks), and majority of my knowledge comes from research and fanfic.

Okay back to the topic at hand!

Generally I write/read fanfic for some fluffy family feels (and angst) and the occasional romance, hence why I prefer to write Talia and Bruce as being good parents and likable characters in general. I enjoy reading about it, so I enjoy writing it that way.

In regards to Bruce and his canon actions… well, that’s a tough one to answer ngl.

On one hand he’s displayed as a loving adoptive father who absolutely adores is children, on the other hand he’s shown to be ruthless when they violate his no-kill rules (reference to the Batarang incident).

To me this kind of juxtaposition makes little sense, but I’m afraid there are quite a number of character inconsistencies in the franchise from what I’ve seen so…. I don’t know. It’s just such a 180 turnaround to the early concept of the Batman who considers everyone to be redeemable regardless of their crime. Why would that suddenly not apply to his child?

I don’t think I could ever stomach writing him as a genuinely bad father, most I could do to mix it up a little and have him struggle to reach an understanding with Jason regarding his rule over Crime Alley and dealing with his own inability to communicate properly.

Batman was always supposed to be a protector, the “good guy”, but he’s also human. A human with significant trauma that he’s never properly worked through which… can screw with your people skills significantly.

So that’s usually the way I try to look at it whenever I want to write a Bruce who isn’t the World’s Best Dad at the moment. He’s trying, he just doesn’t know how to show it in a way that others can understand, especially his kids. (Yes tho I take full liberty with the more heinous stuff Bruce pulls/pulled in the comics and discard them as if they’re expired candy >.<)

To sum it up, I’m afraid you won’t ever find a fic where either Talia and/or Bruce are genuinely, irredeemably bad. Simply because I personally don’t think that’s how people work in general and because… well, I’m soft and I need some soft parenting in there somewhere. Sorry dear 🥺

Phew ok I think I was rambling a bit here, but I hope that answers your question somewhat? But if you’d like I could totally cook up a prompt for you that deals with Jason and Bruce struggling to come to an understanding and making compromises to be a family again. Feel free to let me know or send another ask if you’d like to stay anonymous 💚💚💚💚

[thana-topsy]

If you're up for sharing more writing tips, how can I tell if what I've written is actually any good? With writing I get stuck in a cycle of feeling like I'm the next Shakespeare while writing but then I'll look over my work a few days later and absolutely hate everything and think it's the most cringe shit ever, then I'll leave it a bit longer and think eh it's not as bad as I thought but still not great and so on. I feel like being forced to write for a grade during school and having everything be marked and assessed and assigned a particular value has robbed me of the ability to critically analyse my own work in a way that's objective and accurate but also fair and realistic. I can analyse other peoples' stuff till the cows come home but I lose all rational thought when it comes to my own stuff

Adding onto that, how do I get to the point where I can stop looking back at my old work and hating everything and wanting to delete it all? Realistically I know finding fault with my old stuff is good bc it means I've grown and improved from where I once was etc but at the same time I wanna enjoy stuff I've made in the past without cringing every time I read it

Hey there Nony, I wanted to let this one percolate a little bit before answering because I've been where you are. And it's a rough time for sure. But aside from my own experiences, I also wanted to get the opinions of some of my writerly friends in the fandom, too, since everyone is a little font of wisdom in their own right.

So I'm going to share their advice alongside my own, because this is kind of a complicated string of questions you're asking. Long post ahead!

@paraparadigm says to Keep Writing: "Write more. Write so much (and so many different things) that eventually the sheer volume bulldozes over self-devouring ego, comparison twitches, or feeling lost, because you don't yet know your own baseline. Coupled with "read more, read everything, read things you enjoy and things you don't, read for the craft as much as the entertainment." And: "I'd add that when revisiting old writing, it's helpful for me to differentiate between "ew the writing is not as technically solid as it is now" and "ah that's interesting, I guess that's where I was at then, emotionally and psychologically". Old writing is also a sort of archaeological record of your younger self, and that can, in fact, be a bit itchy to revisit, so learning to cherish that without passing judgement can be really helpful. I try to treat it like those little marks one puts on the door jamb to track a kid's height."

@mareenavee says "Part of it is writing more, as Para said and I will always second that. Another part is, honestly, the hardest part. It's to try very hard to get out of the habit of negative self-talk.... There's so much work involved with this but normalizing being proud of your work and having some grace with yourself is part of that answer."

@archangelsunited says "Early on, instead of going “this has to be a masterpiece” I would tell myself my only job was to tell a story. I couldn’t tell a story if I was deleting it. Also, talking about your work helps. The less ashamed I was of my writing, the more people wanted to read it. There is a need to hide your work, and that can lead to a downward spiral all its own. And, 90% of the time, you have to suck at something to learn to be good at something. The work you already wrote shouldn’t be the sum of all your skill, it should be one of those measuring sticks for the moment. Despite previous thought, you won’t be stuck at the same level forever."

@polypolymorph says "In addition to accumulating experience via reading and writing, you also have to be willing to reinvent the wheel. Unfortunately the Process™️ is unique to everyone, and even when you are deliberately mimicking a voice as, say, a ghost writer, you can't expect that 2+2=4 for you. Your process might look more like a Lotka-Volterra equation for the same type of work and that's okay. Trial and error is the best way to figure out what advice actually works for you--and if it doesn't, it doesn't mean you're wrong. Don't get stuck on pop writing advice like a sad roomba does on an upturned rug. Learn when to throw it out."

So there's some advice from some other excellent writers! I hope you've been able to find some value in their advice, because it certainly kicked me in the pants a few times.

As for me, I think, having been where you are, my biggest piece of advice is: Find joy in the craft. Get curious instead of critical. An artist shouldn't down themselves over a rough sketch when they're working out a drawing, so why would a writer do such a thing? Everything you write is practice. Everything you make has value because it builds up to the next thing you make.

At the end of the day, you are the only one who is capable of telling the stories that are in your head. This fact alone gives whatever you put onto paper value, regardless of quality. You are creating magic, in the most literal sense! Creating something out of nothing, conjuring images into someone else's mind from hundreds of thousands of miles away, transcending space and time. It's amazing!

Lastly, my final piece of advice is to just write for fun. Write things nobody else will ever see just because you wanted to get words onto paper. You have to unlearn what was drilled into you in school. You are more than a content creation machine. You are an artist, a wordsmith. And just know that there will never be a day when you look at your own work and say "That's it, I have achieved perfection."

Writing is a life-long journey. Just enjoy the ride!

[ineffablydelighted]

[How exploring the Ineffable Husbands' dynamic in Good Omens can help us figure out what the show/book is all about, Part 3.1/?]

Also called: This human has, apparently, too much time on her hands and will be trying to Effable the Ineffable for [...] hours.

Hiya, Angels! 👋

Hope you're all doing well!

First of all, if you randomly came across this analysis, I guess you would expect me to entice you to read the first two parts beforehand... And you would be absolutely right.

"Obviosleh."

And since I'm nice [and because I fully understand the importance of saving people as much effort as possible to catch a larger audience - Duh 😇], here are the links for Part 1 and Part 2 🥰 so that everyone is on the same page as we dive into Part 3.

As I previously announced, we'll dissect our favorite pair's next two encounters today which are S1 3004 BC (Noa's Arch, The Flood) and S2 2500 BC (Job's ca-

[future me rereading this before dropping - Yep, nope, not happening just yet]

By doing that, I will try my best to prove to you the main point of my analysis I've revealed at the end of Part 2.

Repeat after me: Good Omens is a philosophical essay disguised as comedic/satyric/romantic fiction.

[Yeah... here she is, already giving orders strong recommendations... I'm so Metatroning you right now.]

[And, since I'm at my best when I'm Metatroning people, this is the moment I'm gonna take to strongly recommend you to ingest the human matter of your choosing - Num num num.]

*In Crowley's voice* OOookaay, let's start!

3004 BC (Mesopotamia - Noa's Arch, The Flood)

In S1, Right before this encounter happens, the scene starts by making us, the audience, witness Aziraphale very badly lying to God about the flaming sword, an event that I already mentioned in part 2 because of the contrast it was considering he did tell the truth to a newly Demonized Crawley in comparison.

BUT [Yay, first "but" of Part 3! Are you having fun?], I really want to talk about this bit some more because that remains one of the scenes that, to this day, bugs me THE MOST in Good Omens as a whole.

To sum things up, you're telling me that GOD:

BOTHERED to pop in to ask one of their Angels a question.

That the said Angel seemed suuuuper anxious about from the start: looking everywhere aimlessly, almost asking them WHAT A DAMN SWORD EVEN WAS... basically giving away EVERY TELLTALE SIGN, both in their voice, mannerisms, and the simple fact that they were literally back to the wall, that they were about to LIE, proceeded to give God the UNanswerest answer EVER:

"Oh, must have, uh, must have put it down here somewhere."

And God just... just... LEFT THAT LYING ANGEL ALONE?! Just as quickly as they arrived?! No arguments, no further questions, no reckoning, just... NOTHING. HAPPENED?!

HUH?

WOT?!

WHO?!

WHO THE F DOES THAT?!

WHO DOES THAT?! That is a real question! WHO?!

IT DOESN'T MAKE ANY. SENSE!

THE F-

I mea-

I'll never recover from it.

Oof. Okay, I'm fini-

I NEED an answer in Season 3! This is all I ask! I don't need the world to be saved, I don't need Alpha Centauri, man, I don't even need Aziracrow to reuni- [okay, no, can't say that, even if I like being dramatic, I take that back, this is all I want and all I've ever wanted, please, I just need to see Aziraphale in a white dress and Crowley demanding him to remove his 200 yo jacket on top of it because it "absolutely ruins it", please!] I. NEED. ANSWERS.

*clears her throat* Yeah. So. I'm perfectly fine with this scene. Moving on!

Aziraphale and Crawley meet in Mesopotamia during the year 3004 BC.

Crawley is the first to notice and to greet Aziraphale VERY enthusiastically. Which is, first of all, cute, but also an indicator that they haven't seen each other in a very long time, more precisely, since Eden (a thousand years prior to be exact). We know that because the first thing Crawley says after his "Hello, Aziraphale!" is the direct continuation of their conversation back in Eden:

"So, giving the mortals a flaming sword. How did that work out for you?"

Aziraphale answers what will never cease to bug me:

"The Almighty has never actually mentioned it again."

Which still peaks my interest because it could mean two things, and pretty different things at that:

One, God and Aziraphale never directly interacted again and nobody from the Main Office ever asked him about the flaming sword at all, which made Aziraphale believe that God never asked them anything about it.

OR

Two, God and Aziraphale DID directly interact again but the flaming sword subject has never been brought up once more.

Given the way this sentence is constructed and the emphasis on "actually mentioned it again," I'm more inclined to believe in the second option, which would be a very interesting thing to pounder:

Aziraphale might have a "privileged" relationship with God considering they probably interacted somewhat directly and more than once.

I'll go back to it later because we need to keep that in mind for the Job's case encounter.

Crawley says that it is "probably a good thing" until his attention is drawn to what is happening around them.

Then, they will debate the subject of the day, which is pretty much the same thing as before but formulated differently and condensed:

What is the point of Good and Bad? Do these concepts even have a meaning or not?

The main difference between the two previous encounters compared to this one is that this time, Aziraphale and Crawley are both active in the debate and do find common grounds here and there. It is shown cinematographically: they share the screen.

Aziraphale explains to Crawley that God got "a bit tetchy" and wants to drown the human race (well, at least the Middle Eastern humans) and Crawley takes that announcement astonishingly, which still aligns with his creator-at-heart persona.

"All of them?"

Insists Crawley.

Aziraphale first tries to mitigate what appears to Crawley as an extreme reaction by stating that Noah, his family, and their spouses will be spared but you can see that he, himself, doesn't really believe in what he tries to say.

"But they're drowning everybody else?"

Crawley really, really cannot comprehend what is happening.

"Not the kids. You can't kill kids."

This reminds us of their very first meeting because Crawley, here, judges God and tries to put himself in their place. Again.

Aziraphale answers with a worried nod: both because he is scared (his Fear of God cannot be anything but present at that moment) and because... he agrees.

And THEN, Crawley says that:

"Well, that's more the kind of thing you'd expect my lot to do."

Now that Aziraphale is more inclined to be part of the debate, Crawley tends to be more forthright about his opinion:

If God can do what Satan and his demons do, what is the point of separating the two? Are they, really, that different?

And, more so:

Is God a Good being anyway?

If Good or Bad exists, of course. [Oh, yes, I know I'm annoying. 100% aware. 😁]

To Aziraphale, it is clearly the case, and that is why he tries, again, to mitigate God's actions:

"The Almighty's going to put up a new thing, called a rainbow. As a promise not to drown everyone again."

A rainbow, huh? How interesting...

A rainbow is basically a demonstration of the union between Water and Fire. God and Satan. Good and Bad. Blah blah blah.

Almost as if...

Nahhh...

Almost as if they both needed to exist at all times!

Also, Aziraphale almost sounds like he is interpreting the rainbow as God's excuse for having a tantrum.

Which Crawley responds with a very sarcastic:

"How kind."

That's when Aziraphale cannot bring himself to follow Crawley's opinion any further (even if it is clearly shown he DOES agree, he is just SCARED to be).

After telling Crawley that he cannot judge God, that's when the "Ineffable" word is brought up again. This time, by Crawley. Because he already knows what Ineffable means to Aziraphale:

I am not important, or mighty enough to judge God and I am not supposed to. I am supposed to do what I am told, no questions asked.

Does it sound repetitive? Yeah, because it is 😅 That is Good Omen's main theme, after all.

This story is, as I mentioned before, a satire. Of religion, but also, of the concept of hierarchy, and the danger of ideologies as a whole. "Ineffable" is an ideology. "Ineffable" literally means "so emotionally overwhelming and powerful that you cannot translate into words"...

But Good Omens wants to bring you to ask yourself: cannot or don't want to?

Aziraphale is a character who doesn't want to think by himself because he is scared of a higher power (hierarchy). But he cannot just... stop thinking. Oppositely to Crowley, who kind of always, naturally had that ability.

Therefore, that makes it difficult for the both of them to understand each other [Oh yes, we'll talk about that further when we finally talk about that S2 finale that left us traumatized. According to my rhythm and how my Muse is an erratic bench, I'd say this conversation will occur in about a year or two.] Just as it is difficult for any of us to understand the people who think dramatically differently than us. Good Omens is an invitation to debate with people who do not share our views. That is how we stay open-minded and prompt to change.

Basically, folks: don't blindly stay in the boxes you're in.

Hierarchy is heavily criticized too, because it is a big cause - if not the main one - of people staying put in their respective boxes. Religion is a box among many others, hence the fact I prefer to say that GO mocks ideologies as a whole.

But hierarchy can be different things, and, more so, can use many different tones towards its subordinates: hierarchy can be nice, and affectionate (family, for instance - or not, definitely not always). Hierarchy can also be threatening, physically or mentally, or both (dictatorship, for instance).

Basically: hierarchy can either come from love or fear.

Or... well, both. That's how you get... propaganda? That is the most blatant example that came to my mind. We tend to associate love with good. We also tend to forget how often love has been used as a weapon.

Good and bad are...

[You know the end of the sentence, now, do you? If not, it means I haven't harassed you enough, so let me remind you]

Good and Bad are always mixed up. If they exist.

Anyway, I feel like I'm starting to digress.

.... Actually? I'm not done with that segment just yet.

[You right now.]

Hierarchy can also come from... habits. History. Some hierarchies that we are under today are still there because of how long they have been installed, but not really because they are that relevant anymore. I am not going to bring examples here because I do not want to offend anybody and because you are more than capable of interpreting this statement in a way that speaks to you.

We'll talk about this more when we'll reach the... Jim/Gabriel subject. [In about a year and a half.]

ANYWAY. Moving on to a lighter reflection:

Romantically speaking, Aziraphale remembers that encounter because Crawley displayed strong empathy and concern during that whole meeting.

He asked Aziraphale how he was after the flaming sword incident,

He could not comprehend how killing kids was okay,

He bothered to alert Noah about the escaping unicorn.

[Also, maybe, because damn - Also, it might come as a surprise to you who have seen me fangirling over Crowley for the last 3 parts but my favorite is actually Aziraphale 🤣]

After this conversation, The Flood starts and neither of them is protecting the other from it. Because of habits (after a thousand years spent on earth, they know this will not hurt any of them), but also as a way to tell us, the audience: they have started to realize they were in this together.

[Insert the "We're all in this together" Disney's High School Musical song right here... Yeah! I'm a Millennial, how could you possibly have guessed?!]

They are Equals.

Another really important topic in Good Omens, by the way, but it is time to dive into one of my favorite encounters between Aziraphale and Crowley and-

Huhhhh. I feel like analyzing two meetings including a whole episode in only one part might feel too heavy (to me, at least). So... I guess see you next time? 😅

Bye, Angels!

[No, no, I'm not saying you are "sssuckersss" okay? Just wanted a Crowley gif.]

Need help to find the rest of this analysis? I've got you covered! Follow me, Angel 😇

Previous - Beginning - Next

[glowfangs]

1. In your view of the show, would Grogar show up to fight Twilight and co, or would he be a figure in the background?

2. What is your favorite MLP ship?

3. What are your thoughts on the legion of doom (Chrysalis, Tirek and Cozy Glow)?

I personally see him as someone on the background. He's as old as time itself and made literally every monster we see in the show, I see him largely as worn down and ancient at this point. I think the version we see of him in the show is just what Discord remembers, not what Grogar actually currently looks like

My partner actually has a really interesting design of Grogar that I helped come up with! The horns growing through his face is inspired by my Mr. Self Destruct shirt from Nature Is Metal! (its also my favorite shirt that I own!) (linked to the image itself bc we dont support deviantart on this blog! fuck wix)

Everyone knows by now that I... LOVE Cozy Glow. I know its a common opinion but she seriously deserved better. A lot of my brain power is dedicated to thinking about her and Svengallop, who I headcanon to be her dad. I mostly think about the future, her reformation, her getting therapy and THE HELP SHE NEEDS.

As for Chrysi and Tirek... Tirek is cool, I cant say much about him! He's a cool looking villain and I think the fact that we got a centaur in g4 is really fun! I also looove that it means Scorpan exists... And that we can make up whatever we want about him >:3

Chrysalis is also sooo cool, I think her denying reformation is really interesting and in character. I could have thoughts about her feeling betrayed by her colony when all she feels she did was try to feed them if I really wanted to. You also CANT GO WRONG WITH THIS DAY ARIA!!!!!!!!! BANGER. BANGER!!!!

All my thoughts about Sombra can be summed up by this gif

AAAND THATS ALL I CAN SAY ABOUT HIM! (Oh, no, trust me, I have many thoughts about King Sombra, from how he died on-screen to how genuinely cool his design is to the au my partner and i have where he lives and ends up magicless with Twilight as his basically social worker... but its funnier to just post that gif)

My favorite mane six ship is RariPie, but I also care a lot about SoarBurn as an oldschool fan, and also many more! I'm a multishipper through and through, so I have a lot of ships I enjoy!

Thank you for your questions, I love answering them!

[jamiehe4rtsmen]

-> dessert : help NEEDED !!

HEY Y'ALL !!

-> i would really appreciate your help, whether in the comments or thru THIS FORM:

FOR THE FORM !! MENTIONS OF BIPOLAR DISORDER, POVERTY & LIGHT MENTION OF ABUSE! 100% ANONYMOUS !!

you can skip any questions that trigger u OR u aren't comfy w/ answering ! thats perfectly ok.

i want to hear ur guys's stories/experiences but i do not. want to see highly personal information such as:

full legal name or what boarding school you attended (if that applies to you). that information is highly sensitive & should not be spread online!

-> a bit more abt the story below !!

moodboard.

explained in the simplest terms possible : queer kids in texas + their token straight friend make it out of their shitty lives.

a/n : these guys have so much lore im pretty sure this would be a series, but im not sure bc a lot of series are just books that could've been one book & got stretched out & i really hate that.

TROPES IF UR CURIOUS:

HEAVYYY, PLOT-CENTERED found family.

boy x boy

friends to lovers

mutual pining

sports romance (ish - the main couple are a baseball player & football player)

"dumb jock" x "genius nerd" (very very loose titles but its the trope).

height difference (not wattpad dw. <10in.)

forced proximity (bc they're roommates)

"THEY WERE ROOMMATES."

highschool romance

two anxious messes

mommy issues x daddy issues

class difference

gentle giant x fierce small

-> thank you SOOO much for participating or just even reading ! i appreciate u more than yk. i want to make sure everyone gets their POSITIVE rep!

-> @anitalenia for the lovely borders as! always! go send sum love their way