#you could say i could have drawn it this whole time
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promiscuous
in which spencer reid doesn't like that flirty!reader is going on a date. he makes that known. (bandages universe)
flangst, 18+ for discussions of sex warnings/tags: gn!reader I think, mentions of going to a bar/going for drinks, very suppressed mutual pining, jealousy from Spencer, reader implied to engage in casual sex, reader calls themself a slut somewhat disparagingly but like as a joke, it all gets resolved, he is very sweet, he rambles when he's nervous a/n: oh God I love them so much they are like so in love and they literally have no idea at all because they're so dumb... but WE can tell.. turning point for them
“Penelope wanted me to confirm that you guys are coming to drinks with us tonight?”
It’s something of a standing tradition for the BAU on the last Friday of every month, and usually you’d agree, but tonight, you have other plans.
“Raincheck for me,” you say, sliding some files into your bag which you do not plan on reviewing. “I have a thing.”
“What thing do you have on a Friday night?” Morgan asks skeptically. You don’t bother looking at him as you hide a smile.
“A date, Morgan. You jealous?”
“You’re going on a date?”
You’d nearly forgotten Spencer was in the room until he spoke—he’s been in one of those quiet moods of his where he sort of floats around everyone else and makes himself insubstantial. As you cast him a sidelong glance, trying to figure out his tone of voice, you see he’s frowning. Nearly grimacing. His brows are drawn so tight you’re worried he’ll give himself a headache.
“Uh, yeah. I am.” Suddenly, your parade feels a little rained on.
“With who?”
You pause, looking back down at your desk with a new frown of your own and shaking your head as if you could clear it that way. “Just… some guy from OT.”
“Dalton?”
Ding ding ding. Somehow he got it right on the first guess, and for some reason, you wish he hadn’t. You don’t want Spencer knowing who you’re going on a date with. It feels wrong.
“Does it matter?” You evade, shoving your things with a little more force into your bag.
“Well Dalton is an idiot, so I guess I’m just trying to figure out why you’d go out with him.”
“And if it’s not Dalton?”
“Then I’d tell you all the guys in OT are idiots and you shouldn’t waste your time on any of them.”
“Alright—” Morgan passes between your desks, placing a friendly hand on your back as he does. “I’m gonna let you two hash this out by yourselves.” He gives you a look, eyebrows raised, unsmiling, that means, go easy on the kid. It makes you feel terribly guilty. And more than a little defensive.
“Night,” you call halfheartedly. He only waves as the glass doors swing shut behind him, leaving you and boy genius alone in the bull pen.
Silence falls, cloistering you as you finish packing up together. It seems to magnify the buzz of the overheads. You notice him intentionally lingering, and you sling your bag over your shoulder with a sigh.
“Okay,” you say, turning to face him with your whole body. He seems uncomfortable with that, but you’re not letting this go. “What is this? Why are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad at you,” he mumbles, refusing to meet your eyes. “I just think—”
“Yeah. You’ve made your thoughts abundantly clear. I don’t know why you’re judging me for going on a date.”
“I’m not judging you! I just think you deserve better than a guy who looks like he… snorts protein powder for every meal and has less capacity for intelligent conversation than a mealworm.”
“Okay. Do you have someone in mind?”
The words come out a little sharper than you’d meant for them to. A little louder. Spencer looks like a scolded puppy as he swallows.
“Not specifically. Just—someone more like you.”
He just doesn’t get it. You fold your jacket over your arm.
“Yeah, well, until someone more like me comes along and asks me out, Dalton is the best I’ve got. I know he’s not my soulmate, Reid. But he asked me to drinks, and I said yes.”
The room is mostly dark. Only a few fluorescents remain on to cast Spencer in an almost clinical glow against a dark grey background. You’ve been here before. It feels like an interrogation. An environment where you’re practically begging for the truth without saying please, but there’s only room for measured dishonesty.
Spencer speaks under his breath, fiddling with the strap of his own bag. “He’s not good enough for you.”
“What do you want me to do?” It’s an exasperated, confrontational sigh. Your arms raise and fall heavily back to your sides. Another long grey hallway of silence that leads nowhere. When it becomes clear he doesn’t have the answer, or he’s not comfortable sharing, you straighten. “I’ll see you Monday, Reid.”
Your spirits are completely dampened as you trudge to the elevators. What once seemed like an exciting opportunity now only serves as a depressing reminder that you’re wasting your time with a man who isn’t what you want. Maybe you should just call the whole thing off.
“Wait,” Spencer calls, half-jogging to catch the open elevator. His bag bobs with every step, pens and things jingling around inside. It’s endearing, even though you’re upset with him. Your arms remain stubbornly crossed, but he makes it anyway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your mood.”
You laugh dryly. “Yeah, well…”
“It’s just that…” he sniffs and looks down, hair falling in front of his face. He really is sweet, even when he’s kind of a dick. He’s full of so much sincerity he doesn’t know what to do with it all. “I know how you are—you’re special, and funny, and intelligent, and, and Dalton—all those qualities are wasted on him. He looks at you and he just sees a pretty face. It may sound trite, but… he doesn’t deserve you.”
You sigh again, heart squeezing. The glowing light on the panel of floor numbers flickers. “I know your heart is in the right place, alright? But it’s not about who deserves me or who doesn’t. I’m not a prize. I’m a person, and people like to feel wanted. Sometimes, it’s just—it’s about who’s there, and who likes me enough to say it to my face. Sometimes that’s all I need, and I know you didn’t mean it like this, but when you say he doesn’t deserve me, it really seems like you’re not considering what I might want at all. Maybe Dalton is what I want.”
God—this elevator ride is like, comedically long.
“Is he what you want?”
At least he has the bravery to ask.
You glance over at Spencer, washed out bloodless and looking like he’s prepared to flinch, like he doesn’t know if he’s ready for the answer. The doors ding and slide open, and stale air whooshes from the chrome compartment into the lobby like a held breath finally exhaled. You swallow.
“I don’t know why it matters to you.”
“Because you’re my friend and I want to see you happy,” he insists, trailing after you as you speed walk through the lobby. Every click of your heeled boots echos.
“Then shouldn’t you be supporting me?”
“I’m not going to support you in making the wrong choice.”
The conversation spills out into the bitter-cold parking lot. You turn around to face him.
“Respectfully, you have no idea what’s right or wrong for me. I don’t like whatever this is,” you say, gesturing with a finger between the two of you, as if the conflict were a tangible thing—a phone line hanging between your hearts. “I don’t know if it’s, like, jealousy, or some misplaced feeling of possessiveness, or protectiveness, or—”
“It’s not like that!” He splutters.
“Okay—so what is it like? If you want to see me happy, why don’t you support me in pursuing the things that make me happy? And if that’s meaningless sex with some guy from operational tech, so be it! You are not in a position to give your two cents on who I sleep with!”
“I wasn’t trying to—I wasn’t even thinking about—about sex! I don’t care who you sleep with!”
He’s turning increasingly pink.
“Fine. But if you weren’t thinking about sex, if you thought I was under any illusion that Dalton was going to be my fucking Prince Charming then clearly you’re not equipped to have this conversation. I know he’s an idiot. I’m not looking for my soulmate—thank you, though, for reminding me that it’s completely fucking pointless to even pretend. I love you, Spencer, but grow up. And stay out of my business.”
And with that, you’re turning on your heel and marching toward your car. Spencer calls your name—once. Twice. The wind lashes against your bare arms and stings your eyes as you fumble with your keys.
It’s just the wind.
Nothing else.
-
Maybe you’re simply not meant for love.
It’s a narcissistic thought in the sense that everyone has it at some point in their lives—everyone falls victim to the delusion that they are so uniquely wretched, so singularly incapable of being understood by another person. It’s the universal illusion of solitude. And you’d thought yourself above it for a long time. In college, there was fling after fling. Your bed was never empty if you didn’t want it to be. In your young adult life, you have other priorities—but you rarely have to be alone.
Now, though, as you sit on a rickety metal stool deep in the bowels of the Bureau’s records room, banished to sort through files in search of one that had been mishandled during a cold case and is now supposedly relevant again, (although you’re not sure it actually exists) you’re pondering the nature of those connections you’d been so sure your life was full of. Were they all artificial? Designed by you subconsciously to manufacture a sense of complacent satisfaction? To stave off the aching, gnawing loneliness in your gut that you’re only now becoming aware of and has been eating you away in bigger and bigger bites since Friday night?
Morgan was supposed to be just as arm-deep into a box of dusty manila folders as you are now, but he talked his way out of it, and you’re sitting in an awkward twenty-minute-long-so-far silence with Spencer. Which isn’t helping anything.
The tension comes and goes like the moon pulling the tides. It’s like you can sense it wafting off of each other—you feel it in the prickle on the back of your neck and the buzz in your stomach when he’s about to say something, and you glance over, and he’s already looking at you with his lips parted, and then he doesn’t say anything after all, and the silence reinforces itself.
It gets frustrating.
Not to mention this task is equal parts mind numbing and infuriating. Maybe Hotch just hates you.
Eventually Spencer clears his throat, and you welcome the distraction.
“What year are you on?”
You give him a long look which he doesn’t reciprocate, because you want to say, really? But eventually you pick up the edge of the box you’re sifting through and double check.
“Uh… June 1979 through August 1979.”
He nods matter-of-facts. “They should be making us wear gloves.”
Your incoming tangent spidey senses are tingling. It’s not exactly an opportune time, but it’s better than silence.
Plus—you’re pretty sure this is his idea of a peace offering.
“Why’s that?” You mutter, flicking through yellowed papers.
“Wood pulp paper contains an alum-rosin mixture to minimize ink bleeding, but in the presence of moisture such as that introduced in trace amounts by our fingertips it generates a diluted sulfuric acid solution. They didn’t start adding alkaline buffers into paper until 1986, and the cellulose chains that comprise the structure of the paper inevitably shorten and break down over time, so we’re actively degrading these documents by touching them without gloves.”
“Did you say sulfuric acid?”
“I said a diluted sulfuric acid solution,” he clarifies, utterly missing the point of your question as he so often does in that disarmingly endearing way of his. “Sorry, by the way.”
You look up from a photo of bloodied bell-bottom jeans. He’s caught you by surprise.
“For what?”
“For—”
He struggles with the words—you watch his lips form a few silent ones before he gives up on the nonchalant act and sets his file on his lap. He can’t seem to tear his eyes from it, but you don’t mind.
“For everything on Friday. I… I know it was none of my business. I sometimes struggle with… keeping my thoughts to myself. Especially when it concerns someone I care about. But I wasn’t judging you, I swear. What you said about—about sex, I—” he sighs, obviously frustrated with himself, and pushes a bit of hair out of his eyes. “That’s not where my mind was at, at all. Whatever you… do, or don’t do, is none of my business. Obviously. You don’t need me to tell you that. You don’t need me to tell you anything. I just really wanted to clarify that I wasn’t shaming you or judging you for—”
“Spencer,” you say gently, cutting him off and reeling him in before he can dig any deeper.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
He glows under the canned lighting, a soft aura of white blurring the edges of him. The stale room buzzes. It’s otherwise quiet down here. Peaceful, almost.
From anyone else, you might consider it overstepping.
You wouldn’t have been willing to forgive them in the first place.
But it’s not anyone else.
“Thank you, for apologizing. I really appreciate it.”
He glances up at you, sort of hunched—always trying to make himself smaller than whatever force created him had intended. The deep brown of his eyes is melted and swirling and sweet and nervous. He’s not naturally good at these interpersonal things, but he’s always trying. He’s always pushing himself for you.
Do you ask too much?
Do you offer enough in return?
Struck by sudden insecurity, you look away. Go back to your files.
Perhaps you made a mountain out of a molehill and told him to climb it.
“I mean, I am kind of a slut. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking so,” you laugh airily. “Maybe it was a good reality check.”
A trailing silence. An air conditioner kicks on.
“What? That’s not—that’s not at all what I was trying to say.”
“Spencer, it’s fine.”
His stool squeaks as he sits up straighter.
“No, I really want you to understand. Even if I cared or thought about how many people you might sleep with—which I don’t—and even if I determined that you were… sexually promiscuous, I wouldn’t assign a moral value to that judgement. Sexual promiscuity is observed all the time in the animal kingdom, it’s biologically sound and justified and in less misogynistic cultures where bonds forged between humans weren’t socioeconomic arrangements dependent on women being viewed as commodities first and foremost, it’s completely unremarkable. But I haven’t made that determination. All I know is that… you’re you. And that’s all that’s ever going to matter to me.”
Silence falls. Your voice gets stuck in your throat.
How does he so casually show you more kindness than anyone else has ever managed to show you in your life?
Spencer takes pity on you.
“And… we’ve talked entirely too much about something that’s none of my business today.”
It’s wry and earns a chuckle from you. Even Spencer manages a chagrined smile. That same strand of hair falls loose as he looks down. Light bounces from his self-effacing smirk.
You fiddle absentmindedly with the fraying corner of a folder, and you’re about to open your mouth, about to speak into the sparkling cloud that the easy laughter and the melted tension has left in its wake, and tell him how much you appreciate him and how kind he truly is and undoubtedly whatever you say will be made more beautiful because of it—because of the affection you have for each other—and then you stop, eyes catching on the case file between your fingers. You frown.
“Wait—what’s the case number we’re looking for?”
“91 18 00063 7.”
You hold the file up, eyes alight.
“I found it.”
Spencer frowns and takes it without asking. You watch as he reviews the number in tiny black typeface along the top of the document. His brow scrunches in disbelief.
“I genuinely didn’t think we were ever going to find it,” he murmurs after leading through the photos and glances back up at you. “We had thirty years of boxes to look through and you found it in under an hour. You’re like magic.”
It’s impossible not to smile. You feel all warm and sparkly as you snatch it back from him and stand, straightening your jacket.
“Will you tell that to Hotch?”
“I… will tell anyone who will listen,” he assures you, and you’re confident he’s following as you make your way through the maze of stacks. “Are we not gonna clean up our mess?”
“There are people who will take care of that later.”
“Yeah. Like me. During my lunch break.”
“Don’t worry. You’re going to be well rewarded for your efforts today.”
“What does that mean?” He mumbles, and you can practically hear his blush.
You smile to yourself.
Still got it.
for more of these two, check out the bandages universe masterlist!
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x you#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x y/n#criminal minds x you#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfic
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Now that I've listened to Re: Dracula I feel like I've been weirdly spoiled for a lot of other Draculas. Like don't get me wrong there's a lot of Dracula's out there to like but there was something really beguiling about:
a) Mina and Lucy's quite modern musings about their place in the world, the beginnings of wonderings about what they might like or could like as people not just as what society demands
b) Mina and Lucy's relationship. I just adore that they are surprisingly different characters and interact in a very realistic interesting way that you don't see a lot in media that depicts this time period. I also love how intelligent Mina is.
c) The absolute intensity of the bond and duty our heroes find themselves drawn into when put in this horrific situation. It really surprised and struck me the way that all these people with not extremely deep connections in a lot of cases closed ranks together in a silent fight to protect not just themselves but to break the cycle of evil. They, all of them, really showed a tremendous amount of care and kindness towards each other in this insane mission. Obviously it would have been nice if the boys had been less dumb about including Mina in things but their follies in that area were clearly a result of the time they lived in and not a fundamental personal lack of respect for mina.
d) I know everyone does not see this interpretation but I like that there is a quasi-homoeric undertone to Dracula and Johnathan's whole thing. Of course Johnathan is there under duress and I'm certainly not saying that there is something consensual or reciprocal going on but Dracula being so possessive of him especially with the brides gives an interesting undertone to some of the earlier parts of the book. There is a real sort of fascination Dracula seems to have for him as a conduit for information about his next conquest and he really tries to connect with him through the guise of society.
I haven't really ever seen all these points illustrated very strongly in other retellings or if it's there it doesn't communicate that feeling that makes these missed points so special. Worse it seems like a lot of the time they make really weird choices like merging characters or swapping characters or cutting characters for brevity or excitement. Which on one hand I kind of understand but when given the space the characters all have their own interesting points and perspectives and are interesting to experience.
I'd love to see a retelling that balanced all these things a little more and cut less. Maybe even have it be a mini series rather than a movie.
#re: dracula#dracula#the crew of re: dracula just kicked way too much ass#the performances were so rich and lovely#the editing choices were incredible#i was going to call out karim specifically but legit#its hard for me to walk past any performances in the entire thing#i love them all
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hey! i just wanted to say that i love your writing. you have the most amazing style and idk if youre accepting asks rn but pls ignore if not.
would you ever consider writing a fic about john price/reader where reader is like sick for a couple days or maybe gone for a while and hes been totally deprived and all when you finally are feeling better/home, then he just absolutely loses all of his gentlemanly ways and jumps you the moment he can get it again??
maybe a little inspired by this gif -- https://www.tumblr.com/posseydonn/765988062279909376/lets-not-sleep-without-making-love?source=share
Thank you! That means so much 🥰
And of course! I was so excited when I saw this. You're the first to request, and it made me so happy. I hope this is okay, and again, thanks so much for the ask!
coming home
AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist
John Price x Reader
Three weeks apart is three weeks too long for John.
[3,5k words]
cw: smut, piv sex, oral sex, cunnilingus, blow job, come swallowing, smoking
You entered the meeting room, a soft “Sorry I’m late” escaping your lips, breathless as your eyes met Kate’s. She smiled, and the room, thankfully, seemed less concerned with your tardiness and more captivated by your return.
“There she is!” Gaz called out, a grin splitting his face.
“Don’t worry about it.” Kate said at the same time and gestured for you to sit down.
“Lassie! Good to see ye again!” Soap exclaimed, a gentle slap on your shoulder accompanying his greeting as you sat beside him.
Ghost’s masked face gave nothing away, but you could have sworn you saw a slight nod in your direction when your eyes met. Several other soldiers offered their greetings, but your attention was drawn to the man standing next to Kate. Their voices, addressing the room, held the familiar cadence of teachers instructing a class. His features, however, softened noticeably the moment you entered, and you suspected the newer recruits could thank you for the subtle shift in John's demeanour. Tasks were assigned and mission preparations discussed, a mission you’d been desperately wanted to be back in the field for.
You'd been confined to your home for the past three weeks, battling a nasty flu. Fever, headaches, an upset stomach – the whole miserable package. You'd warned everyone to steer clear, not wanting to share the misery. John, though you suspected he wanted to argue, had obeyed. You knew he was itching to fuss over you, to bring you tea and take your temperature like he’d done countless times before. But his care manifested in other ways. Canned soup and chocolate – clearly a Price-approved selection – appeared mysteriously on your doorstep. A week's worth of groceries materialized thanks to Soap and Ghost. And Gaz's mum, bless her, managed to stock your medicine cabinet better than a pharmacy.
As the meeting for the day was concluded and everyone slowly left the room, Price stopped you in your tracks with a raised hand. “Stay behind a moment, love.”
When the room was empty, he closed the distance between you, his hands settling on your shoulders. “Why didn’t you call? I would have picked you up.”
You shuffled your feet, avoiding his gaze, suddenly shy under his intense scrutiny. “Doctor cleared me, and I came straight here,” you explained, gesturing vaguely towards the front of the room, where he had been standing moments ago. “Didn’t want to bother you. You were clearly busy.”
“Never a bother,” he murmured, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your skin. “Next time, call me. Okay?”
You leaned into his touch, a wave of relief washing over you. The simple contact made you acutely aware of how much you’d missed him. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, a small smile playing on your lips as you met his gaze. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a gesture that sent a wave of comforting warmth through you.
“It’s good to have you back.” He exhaled heavily, tension easing from his shoulders. “The boys were driving me insane.”
You chuckled. “You love them.”
“I do. Not as much as you, though.”
You rolled your eyes at the cheesy line, but a warmth bloomed in your chest. He lifted your chin with a gentle finger. “Promise me if you’re not feeling well, you won’t play tough and tell me immediately, yeah?”
“I will. I promise.”
“Good.”
“Gotta go train the new kids, I suppose,” you sighed theatrically.
“I don’t envy you.” He grimaced.
“I’ll have to put my Price voice on.” You grinned, anticipating his reaction.
He raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Price voice?”
You cleared your throat, mimicking his gruff tone. “You muppets! Twenty pushups, now!”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “I do not sound like that.”
“You wish you’d sound as sweet as I do.” You winked, and he chuckled, sliding his arm around your waist as you walked together down the corridor. He paused at his office door, leaning in for a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”
“Yes, Captain.” You smiled, saluting playfully, which earned you another eye roll as he disappeared inside.
The day wore on, the relentless rain and wind a constant, chilling presence on the training grounds. You watched the new recruits struggle through the obstacle course, their movements hampered by the slick mud and the biting wind. You, at least, had the small comforts of proper gear. These poor souls, battling the weather in addition to the gruelling physical demands – it brought back memories of your own training. The endless drills, Price’s watchful gaze, his voice a constant bark of commands, pushing you, testing your limits. No trace of the tenderness he showed you now. Back then, it had been all business, grit, and determination.
But it earned you a place on the 141, and you didn't regret a single moment.
As the last recruit, mud-caked and drenched, stumbled across the finish line, you offered a nod of acknowledgement. “Passable time, soldier,” you stated, pointing towards the last stretch of obstacles, “but that last part needs to be faster. Work on your agility in these conditions. Life or death out in the field.” The recruit saluted, exhaustion etched on their pale face, before joining the rest of the group.
Dismissing them with a sweep of your hand, you advised, “Get yourselves dried off and warmed up.” You could practically feel the welcome relief of hot showers and a decent meal yourself as you watched them disperse, shivering. Heading for the nearest entrance, you discarded your heavy weather gear with a sigh of relief.
A voice called out, “Sergeant?” Turning, you recognized the young recruit from the cafeteria, his waterproof jacket plastered to his thin frame as he hurried towards you. He pointed a finger down the hall. “Captain Price wants to talk to you.”
Your heart quickened, a nervous flutter in your stomach. Smoothing down your damp uniform and clutching the training reports, you made your way toward Price’s office, that nervous flutter intensifying with each step. You knocked lightly, the sound muffled by the heavy door.
“You wanted to talk to me?” you began, pushing it open. “Oh, I already have the reports here –”
“Lock the door.” Price’s command cut you short, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. A freshly lit cigar was clenched between his teeth, a plume of smoke curling upwards.
Your breath hitched, momentarily stunned by his command. The facade of your professionalism crumbled under the weight of his gaze. “What?”
His eyes bored into you. He jerked his chin towards the door, the unspoken command crystal clear. “Do it, and get over here.” A blush warmed your cheeks as you obeyed, the click of the lock echoing in the sudden silence.
You crossed the room, dropping the reports on his desk as you rounded it, coming to a stop before him. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist, pulling you towards him with a force that made you gasp. The movement was almost violent, and he didn’t even waste a breath before your training briefs were bunching around your ankles as he shoved them down. His touch was rough, brutal and yet undeniably possessive.
The heat of him against your sudden bare skin was like an electric shock, making the hairs on your skin stand up, igniting a fire that had been smouldering for past weeks. His mouth was suddenly between your thighs, biting your sensitive flesh through the fabric of your panties, eliciting a moan from your lips.
“Christ, John, what –” you breathed, the words lost against another nip of his teeth. He forced his tongue against the damp fabric and his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your backside as he growled against your skin. “Fuck, I've missed you.”
“We’re at work,” you protested weakly, even as your hands found their way into his hair, desperate for something to hold on to.
He pulled back slightly and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Has that ever stopped us before?”
You shook your head, a breathless laugh escaping you. “I guess not.”
With a quick, almost savage tear, your panties were gone. The cool air against your heated skin made you shiver. He murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky, “I’m not going to fire you for fucking your boss, sweetheart.” A trail of scorching kisses followed his words, his lips branding your inner thighs.
“Very funny,” you chuckled, hands finding their way back into his hair, and without a warning, his tongue parted your folds. The contact with your clit was an unexpected intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. He pushed you back against the desk, your legs parting instinctively as his fingers joined the fray. He lapped at your slickness, his tongue swirling and circling, his beard scratching the skin, while his fingers teased the entrance of your hole.
He devoured you, his hunger insatiable, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to bring you to the brink. You could feel the pressure building, coiling tight in your belly, the pleasure intensifying with each lick, each touch, each stolen breath. “John,” you gasped, and he groaned in response, the sound thick with desire, but then, his own need overriding yours, he pulled back abruptly. The sight, the taste, the feel of you was too much. He needed to be inside you. With a low growl, he lifted you onto the cool surface of the desk, scattering the forgotten reports beneath you like fallen leaves.
“Shouldn’t you be looking at those reports?” you managed, a weak attempt at humour.
He shook his head, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips. “The only thing I should be doing is you.”
As he moved above you, your gaze traced the familiar lines of his body. The faint, silvery scars that crisscrossed his skin, a roadmap of his life, each one an etched memory of battles fought and won. The dark hair dusting his chest and narrowing down to the meticulously trimmed line of his pubic hair – a detail that sent a wave of heat through you, the knowledge that he’d been ready for you, waiting for this moment, just as you had been.
His cock, thick and veined, throbbed before you. The tip, a darker shade of pink, almost crimson with arousal, glistened in the dim light of the office, the precum already beading there like glistening dew. The velvety texture, the subtle ridges and curves of its form – it was a thing of beauty, of raw power. And it belonged to him, to the man who made you feel things no one else could. Safe. Cherished. Desired.
It had been weeks – an eternity – since you’d felt this way. The way he looked at you, his eyes dark and intense, focused solely on you, made you feel seen, loved, like you were the only person in the world.
The initial slow burn of his entry ignited a fire within you, a slow, steady warmth that spread through your body. As he settled fully inside you, a sigh escaped your lips. It was a feeling of homecoming, of finally returning from a long and arduous journey, of finding your way back to the place where you belonged. It was more than just pleasure; it was a sense of rightness, of two halves becoming whole. You revelled in the feeling of fullness, of completion, of finally having him back where he belonged.
You could feel every inch of him, the subtle ridges and curves of his length pressing against your inner walls, the velvety head brushing against your most sensitive point, sending shivers of anticipation radiating outwards. He leaned down, his lips finding yours in a searing kiss, and the taste of him, of cigar smoke and desire and longing, filled your senses.
As the kiss deepened, his rhythm intensified, the slow burn giving way to a wildfire. The languid thrusts became more insistent, more demanding. The rhythmic slap of skin against skin echoed in the quiet office, punctuated by the creak of the desk beneath you. His mouth moved to nip and suck at your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your already sensitized nerves. His touch was a brand that marked you as his, a delicious reminder of his possession. His fingers found your clit, rubbing, circling, adding yet another layer of exquisite torture to the inferno already burning within you.
The pressure built, the pleasure intensifying with each thrust, each touch, each stolen breath. And then, it hit you – an explosion of pure, unadulterated bliss, a blinding white light that obliterated all thought. You threw your arms around his back, your nails digging into his skin. Your body convulsed, pressing against him, clamping down on his cock as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, each one more intense than the last. He held you steady, his strong arms a comforting anchor and his voice a low murmur against your ear. “That's my girl,” he whispered, the words a balm to your soul as the tremors subsided, leaving you spent and sated in his embrace.
Still pleasure-drunk, your mind hazy with the afterglow of your climax, you pushed him off you and breaking the connection. He stumbled back, a flicker of confusion in his eyes, but he didn’t intervene, his gaze following your every move as you slid off the desk. He let himself be pushed back into his chair, his chest heaving, his cock still slick and hard.
Reaching for the earlier discarded cigar in the ashtray, you brought it to your lips, inhaling deeply, the familiar taste making your head spin. As you exhaled, your gaze locked with his, a predatory glint in your eyes. With slow, deliberate movements, you began to play with the cigar, rolling it between your fingers, letting it linger at the corner of your mouth, dragging it across your lips as if savouring the taste, the tip tracing the same path his tongue had taken only moments before. The act, a shameless innuendo, was a way of reclaiming your power, of teasing him, of showing him that you weren't done with him yet. You ran your tongue along the length of it, the tip glistening in the dim light of the office.
He watched, transfixed, his breath hitching in his throat, every muscle in his body coiled tight with a tension that bordered on painful. You were putting on a show, a performance designed solely for him, and it was driving him absolutely insane. The way you practically fucked the cigar, deep throating it with a practised ease that made his blood run hot, was both absurd and incredibly erotic.
His gaze was riveted on your lips, the way they stretched and pulsed around the cigar, the tip disappearing into the depths of your mouth, then reappearing, slick and glistening. Your tongue, darting out to lick the tip, to swirl around the base, made him growl involuntarily.
Your cheeks hollowed with each deep drag, the sight making his own breath come in short, ragged gasps. It was blatant, mimicking a far more intimate act, a performance designed to tease and torment, and it was working perfectly. He could practically feel your mouth on him, the heat, the pressure, the rhythmic pull – it had been weeks of forced abstinence, and he knew that no one else could make him feel this way; this desperate, this utterly and completely out of control.
His cock, still red and swollen, throbbed and twitched in agonizing response and the pre-come slowly leaked onto his skin. His balls ached with a desperate need for release, a pressure that built with each drag you took on the cigar, each moan that escaped your lips, each flick of your tongue. The need to touch himself, to find some small measure of relief, was almost overwhelming.
Not being able to bear it any longer, his hand instinctively moved towards his aching hardness, but you stopped him, your fingers gently but firmly closing around his wrist.
“Not yet, Captain,” you purred, your voice husky with amusement. You held his gaze, your eyes sparkling with mischief, and brought the cigar back to your lips, taking one last, long drag. Letting he smoke fill your lungs before you leaned in, your lips brushing against his. You exhaled slowly, deliberately, the plume of smoke swirling into his mouth, teasing his tongue with the lingering taste of the tobacco, the heat of your breath, and the promise of more.
He groaned, a low rumble in his chest, and his tongue darted out, attacking your mouth, desperate to taste you, to reclaim the connection that had been broken only moments before. The kiss was fierce, hungry, his tongue probing deep, seeking out yours, tangling with it in a desperate dance of need. He wanted you, all of you, right there, right then, but you pulled back, a teasing smile playing on your lips. With a slow, deliberate movement, you placed the cigar between his lips.
Then, trailing a line of kisses down his chest, across the hard planes of his stomach, each touch sending shivers through his already aroused body, you reached your destination. He groaned, his hands finding their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as you knelt before him, his hardness pressing against your cheek.
You took him in your mouth, the taste of him – salty and musky – mingling with the lingering flavour of the cigar and the faint, sweet taste of yourself. You swirled your tongue around him, appreciating the feel of him against your lips, the heat of him radiating against your skin. You sucked hard, the pull creating a friction that made him groan, his hips bucking involuntarily against your mouth. You bobbed your head, setting a slow, steady rhythm, your eyes never leaving his, watching as his expression shifted from desire to pure pleasure. You increased the pressure, the pace, drawing him deeper into your mouth, feeling the throb of his pulse against your tongue and the way his cock pulsed and twitched with each pull of your lips.
You ran your tongue along the underside of his length, before playing a soft kiss to the tip, teasing him, driving him closer to the edge. He groaned again, the sound barely audible, a strangled whimper of pleasure lost somewhere between a sob and a curse.
You continued, relentless, taking him fully into your mouth again with a passion fuelled by the weeks of pent-up longing. You felt him tense, the muscles in his thighs clenching as he reached his peak. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and a shudder ran through his entire body. His grip on your hair tightened, his knuckles white against your scalp. “Fuck… yes,” he groaned, the words barely audible. “So good... love... bloody hell…”
His voice trailed off into a series of incoherent moans and gasps as he spilled into your mouth, the hot rush of his release coating your throat. You moaned when the taste hit you, salty and musky, and so intoxicatingly him. You could feel the heat, the force of it, as he emptied himself into you – the rhythmic contractions of his cock, the feeling of him throbbing within your mouth, how the ridge of his length pulsated against your tongue with each spurt – it sent shivers down your spine. You continued to suckle gently, even after the initial rush subsided, your tongue swirling around him, cleaning him, wanting to draw every last drop of him, to cherish the intimacy of the moment, to prolong the connection for as long as possible. With a final, loving kiss against the tip, you pulled back, leaving him breathless.
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes still dark with desire, but now softened with a tenderness reserved only for you. He reached down, his hand gently cupping your chin, tilting your face up to his. He brushed a stray strand of hair away from your forehead, his touch feather-light. “I missed you,” he murmured. “I was worried sick. So glad you’re alright.”
You smiled, a playful glint in your eyes. “Couldn't even wait until we got home?” You teased, still settled between his thighs, reaching up to run a finger along his jawline, feeling the familiar prickle of his beard. He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “No chance, love. Not a bloody chance.” You leaned forward, resting your head against the hard muscles of his thigh, your fingertips dancing lightly along his skin. “Want to grab some dinner and stay with me tonight?” you asked, almost hesitant.
He met your gaze, a warmth spreading through his eyes that made your heart skip a beat. He reached forward then, lifting you up into his lap effortlessly. "Like you even have to ask," he murmured, his hands gently caressing your back, drawing soft circles.
“Let's go then?” he asked softly after a while.
You sighed, closing your eyes, letting the peace of the moment wash over you. “Just a minute.” He didn't reply, but his arms tightened around you, holding you close, and in that silent embrace, you found everything you had been missing in the last weeks: the comfort of his presence, the security of his touch, the certainty of his love. You were home.
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Hi @masnadies & friends! I don't really have a literal map, just an idea of where I think things are from what we've seen in S1 & S2. I love @mochacoffee's map & think that it makes sense that a ton of the space in the upstairs rotunda is shelves of books-- particularly, the bit visible from the main part of the shop downstairs-- but also that there are rooms up there, as we saw in S2. Aziraphale designed the shop as a space for him and Crowley so I think there's actually a lot of intentionality behind it. I've had some thoughts on this for awhile so I hope you all don't mind me sharing them here.
Some ideas on what rooms might exist and where they might be in the shop, how the threshold/invites work based on what we've seen, and what new room in the shop I would bet is going to be in The Finale. Also, what the story purpose in making the shop mysterious enough that we're having these conversations might be.
Design-wise, I think that the whole interior of the bookshop is built to look to any angels that might enter the front door like it's nothing but a bookshop that is a cover for the angelic embassy. Aziraphale only has the embassy so he can have the bookshop, which is really a cover for having as close to a house as Aziraphale had been able to manage while being a working angel. The way they are using the bookshop as a metaphor for Aziraphale (and for Crowley and Aziraphale) and its design tells us a lot about Aziraphale and his relationship with Crowley. What we have been allowed to glimpse of the bookshop-- and when, and in what order-- is very much intentional and part of both the design of the story and pf Aziraphale's design of the shop, imho.
In S1, the show uses the bookshop metaphor for Aziraphale by focusing more on Crowley's relationship with the bookshop than on Aziraphale's relationship with it. Each episode gives us more and more information regarding what level of access Crowley has to the shop that is symbolically Aziraphale as a way of slowly showing the audience the depth of the intimacy of his and Aziraphale's relationship.
In 1.01, we see Crowley feel safe for the first time in the episode when he and Aziraphale are in the bookshop. We see him on his couch, their familiar setup and being able to speak freely and have some privacy in the shop. Crowley's glasses come off for the first time in the minisode. It's the setting of the bookshop that helps to establish how close they are from the jump of the story. Each subsequent episode, though, begins to unfold that even more.
When the shop goes on fire, we find the doors will open for Crowley-- basically, that he has a key to Aziraphale's place. When Crowley goes back to the shop in Aziraphale's body during the body swap, we see him able to identify which books in the shop weren't there before Adam adjusted reality-- telling us that he spends so much time in the bookshop that he knows every detail of it. When he meets Aziraphale in the park afterwards, he tells Aziraphale that the bookshop is just as it was, with not a single smudge and everything in the same places that they always were.
While we just saw Crowley on the ground floor of the bookshop, this comment-- delivered while he's literally in Aziraphale's body, for fun symbolism-- is saying that Crowley has unfettered access to the entire bookshop and knows the whole place so well that he knows everything in it, everywhere, by heart, and could tell if anything was amiss in the shop. He knows his way around every room in the bookshop and has permission to go into any of them that he wants because they're basically his, too.
So... Crowley, while in the midst of the sexual metaphor that is the body swap, is seen telling Aziraphale that he went through their entire house and everything is fine, and this is not a conclusion that Crowley could have drawn without having gone into Aziraphale's bedroom-- and without being familiar enough with it to be able to tell if anything is amiss. This is the end of the steady progression of information about Crowley and the bookshop throughout S1 and it comes when they're in each other's bodies, ahead of the romantic Ritz finale.
In S2, we start to see a little more of the shop but what of it we see is reflective of the conflicts happening in the story, as it would be, right? First, we find out what's behind the door of the room behind Aziraphale's desk that remained closed in S1 and it's a subtle but potent reveal-- it's a room being used like a massive storage closet.
It's Aziraphale's actual backroom, not the office to which he brought Gabriel and Sandalphon in S1, which is built to be a place to which he can bring a visiting angel. This backroom is painted the color of Crowley's eyes and is a hodgepodge of random things that are being stored back here without a shred of the structure of the rest of the shop. While Aziraphale's bookshop is cluttered in a good way, that isn't what's happening in the backroom we see in S2. There's an open privacy screen in the corner that seems to be blocking off nothing. There's furniture and books just kind of pushed into the room-- random lamps. A chair just kinda stuck in there near the door. It's a storage unit, basically, and not a room that is in use, and it looks like it's holding things in limbo for a future that may or may not happen. It's stuff that belongs to he and Crowley that neither want to give away but that neither have room for in their lives at the moment. It's a total holding pattern of a room and Muriel bursting into it is literally the (literal) closet door being broken down by the supernatural cops, right?
In S1, the bookshop itself is essentially their closet but, as the supernatural characters like Gabriel and Muriel keep pushing further into the shop in S2, even as Crowley and Aziraphale wind up stopping hiding their relationship in S2, in the first half of it, we have this closet room representing them trying to try to find a space to talk openly in their own house during the chaotic week they're having.
Then, we see use of the home bar space in 1941 a bit, and this one is really interesting. While we saw this space in the present in S1 while Aziraphale was trying to figure out how to tell Gabriel about the antichrist kid mix up, now we see Crowley and Aziraphale using it and see that this table that Aziraphale keeps clutter on during the open hours is basically the dining room of the bookshop. It's positioned so that it's not in direct view from the front door of the bookshop-- just like how Crowley's couch is tucked away from immediate view of the door by the bookshelves.
If you look at the front of the shop-- everything between the front door and the cash register counter-- it actually does look like a little bookshop in its own right. The display tables and shelves and stacks of books along the wall. These are probably the books that Aziraphale can part with, if he absolutely must lol, and is really the only part of the shop that is truly the bookshop. Pretty much this bit below and the bookshelves where Crowley pulled the Jane Austen book that is on our right out of sight below:
Because the bookshop is metaphorically Aziraphale, I'm of the opinion that, technically, basically anyone can theoretically get through the front door. Humans are obviously kept away by locks and closed signs and restricted to business hours (whatever Aziraphale feels those are at any given moment lol.) The supernatural characters, though... The threshold, as Shax discovered in S2, is not actually the front door. Likely symbolic of how Aziraphale will give anyone a chance. The threshold is proven in both seasons to be the cash register counter-- the point at which what is meant to look entirely like a bookshop is really becoming Aziraphale's house, whether it seems that way to others or not. But, still, it means everyone can theoretically get into the entryway, right?
So, how do Crowley and Aziraphale have any privacy if the supernatural beings can all get through the front door?
Because they have found a way to exploit the angels and demons' dislikes of one another to get it.
Technically, the bookshop is an angelic space and an angel could demand entry to it and there's nothing Aziraphale could do but allow them to go wherever they wanted. This is the one weak spot because, while the demons won't want to deal with an angelic space and will just stay away, the angels are a different matter. Even if they cannot get past the cash register area without an invite, they need to believe like they have control over the space in order for Aziraphale to be able to keep it. So, why do the angels frequently turn up at the door asking to be let in, even if the vibes are very much that they feel it's sort of dumb that they have to ask and Aziraphale knows he has to say yes? Why don't they just go through the door?
Aziraphale out-psyched them, basically.
He told Heaven the truth-- the threshold to the shop is not the door but the cash register counter-- but he also told them that they were all going to make sure that the demons in Hell thinks the threshold is the front door. He told them that this is how they'll keep the embassy secure because, it being an embassy, they might have to allow a demon in during the daylight for spiritual counseling towards the light (the excuse for Crowley being seen sometimes entering the shop during business hours) but they can't just let a demon have unfettered access to a heavenly space-- that would be unseemly!
So, that's Aziraphale's argument for the threshold in the first place-- he needs control over the embassy space in order to protect it for Heaven and not just let these demons wander around in it unchecked. But he's made it so that Heaven thinks they're getting one over on Hell by making them think they're all in on the joke but that, for security purposes, they need to keep up the charade. They've all been told that they're supposed to go to the door for an invitation so that, if any demons are watching the place, they won't get suspicious that the door isn't really the threshold.
Crowley is keeping this going with the demons in S2, as well, when he leads Shax to think that the threshold is the door before she figures out he's lying during the bookshop attack. He also lies about his ability to invite people in, implying that only Aziraphale can, which we see later is untrue. Technically, anyone that Aziraphale has invited in can invite in other people behind them, which is how Maggie ended up inviting in all of the demons during the bookshop attack, and also why Crowley reminds Gabriel not to let anyone in when he rushes out of the shop after Shax while Aziraphale is in Edinburgh.
So, Aziraphale basically told Heaven that they all would know the truth, of course, that the threshold was the cash register but that they all wouldn't want the demons to find that out, right? That wouldn't be a very secure embassy. They need the demons to think that it's the same rules for everyone. Aziraphale's gotten them all to play along by making them go to the door and ask to be invited in, even though they could, technically, get in the front door and up to the cash register without an invitation. He's basically found a way to make them all ring the doorbell by exploiting their own prejudices against the demons.
This is shot now because, when Crowley and Aziraphale backed all the humans up into the living room, behind the cash wrap, Shax figured out that the door wasn't the threshold and tested her theory on poor Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets, basically proving what we saw back in S1 when Gabriel and Sandalphon showed up.
They arrived when the shop was open and Aziraphale was busy inside with basically the only time in the series he has ever had customers lol and so there was no reason for Gabriel and Sandalphon to need to be invited in at the door because the shop was in normal business hours and it was Gabriel who was there. The rules of the other angels and demons wouldn't be seen as applying to him-- but they both did need an invitation to go any further than the cash wrap. Aziraphale brought them into his back office, which is a room he was willing to sacrifice to visiting angels as a way of seeming totally transparent and keeping them from wanting to search through the rest of the shop.
But, anyway, I think this is why the shop is built the way it is-- it's a house that is designed to pass as a bookshop so it can pass as an embassy-passing-as-a-bookshop, so that it can exist. Aziraphale has never really wanted to run a bookshop; he just wanted his books and a safer, home-like place he and Crowley could be together in. It's a bookshop just because Aziraphale has so many books and that made it the best cover for the fact that it's not really much of a shop at all-- just the front part of it is and Aziraphale has to fight to keep anyone from trying to buy any of the books that are in the other 95% of the shop, all of which are really his and/or Crowley's.
It's set up so that if the angels ever are just inside the front door before the cash wrap--or if they go only into the backroom where Aziraphale brings Gabriel and Sandalphon in S1-- that they're basically just seeing what looks like a bookshop. If they look up into the second-floor rotunda from near the door or most places on the ground floor, they just see a second floor of shelves of books that they can presume that Aziraphale is selling to the humans. It's not until we go up there with the characters in S2 that we see rooms exist up there... tucked out of sight from below. The further we press into the shop and the more we go around corners, the more we see that its design is intentionally attempting to hide what the real purpose of the bookshop is.
Aziraphale and Crowley cannot trust that there won't be some night when, idk, Sandalphon or Michael or somebody decides to just suddenly appear in the front part of the shop instead of knocking at the door. If they did, they wouldn't be able to physically go any further than the cash register counter-- but they could see into the shop from there. That seems factored into Aziraphale's design of the shop.
Aziraphale built it so that if he and Crowley were having dinner or wine at the table in the bar area like they were in 1941, Part 2 or if they were cuddled up on Crowley's couch, that they're around corners or otherwise obstructed from view enough that it gives them the opportunity to not get immediately caught should an angel blow past the established norms of entry and show up in the front part of the bookshop. The table in the home bar and Crowley's couch are both positioned so that a person cannot directly see them from the front door of the shop, which would buy them both time should someone show up in the shop. The place is built to make it so that no one can get past the cash register counter threshold and, even if they get past the door and into that space without Crowley or Aziraphale realizing it, they likely won't catch Crowley in the shop, no matter what time of day they show up.
So, the main floor bookshop space is visible to everyone but rooms that are more personal or that are hiding something from Heaven just by existing are buried a bit further into the shop or behind a door that has been right there the whole time but that the show is taking longer to open.
It wasn't until S2 that we saw into the private room in the back-- the closet, as the two of them were kind of trying to come out of it when it came to their relationship. It's also not until then that we get to go upstairs and, when we do, see that the spots that you cannot see directly from the door below have rooms. This is Aziraphale's private residence and even this? Is mostly set up to be able to deflect, should Heaven ever get up here. Have a real look at Gabriel's completely bizarre room here:
This is the unused bedroom of the bookshop, really-- not Aziraphale's actual one. It looks like a messy monk lives in here. One the size of a hobbit, apparently, because that bed could not get any smaller. This room exists basically in case Sandalphon ever shows up and demands a tour. Here's Aziraphale's room that he can claim he never really uses and just has for pretense or in case there's an emergency and someone needs to lie down. Nothing to see here, Stasi-a-Fond, just my tiny, dollhouse bed that I absolutely cannot fit in on my own, let alone with that six feet of legs demon! Jim's bedroom is as much of a closet as the back room downstairs is.
So, what lives down the little hallway on the ground floor, back out of sight? And, even better, what is the room at the top of the stairs to the left of Gabriel's bedroom? We were shown this door but it remained closed for all of S2. It is to S2 what the closed back room that we saw in S2 was to S1-- this door we saw a few times and then went into in the next bit of story.
Given its location in the shop-- conveniently at the top of the stairs and beside another bedroom-- it's likely that this is Aziraphale's bedroom. Unlike many, I think that Aziraphale does sleep. (I'm pretty sure Gabriel is wearing Aziraphale's pajamas in that "Jim's Mug" scene in S2.) Regardless of his sleep habits, though, he has other uses for a bedroom and I don't think it's collecting dust.
There are also some spaces in the vicinity of Jim's room that I think could be a bathroom, which Aziraphale could claim is necessary for customers, as you all have said above. Do his customers need the likely nice shower and that probable clawfoot tub? 😂 Not exactly, but Aziraphale likely would say fuck it and figure he'll come up with something if Heaven finds out. He can tell Michael he's baptizing people up there or something. I think that the lure of bath time with The Serpent is likely too strong to pass up.
We know there's a kitchen in there that Aziraphale was using for the literal portion of his baking in during Lockdown, which I think is probably what's located if you keep going past the private room and the home bar into that unseen space. See from where Aziraphale emerges in the bit below?
Nina, Maggie & Gabriel follow him into the room afterwards and they all seem to be coming from some place down the little corridor that leads further back into the shop. I'm pretty sure that's where the kitchen is. I think that's also the direction from which Aziraphale came when he brought Muriel tea in S2 as well. I'm sure it's very warm and cozy but I have a sneaking suspicion that it'd be a room we'd find surprising in its organization. It would be one of the rooms in the house that makes it pretty clear that Crowley spends a lot of time in the shop. I wouldn't be surprised if there are some-- gasp!-- plants in there-- potted culinary herbs, probably. He likes to cook for them sometimes.
I don't think it'd be super-necessary to show the kitchen but I actually think there's a chance we still might see it in The Finale largely because of the fact that I think we're going to flash back to the aftermath of Aziraphale blowing up his halo and briefly see some of what went down between then and the next morning-- namely, the convo with The Metatron that Aziraphale says the next morning took place, and the aftermath of that. If we go back to that night, we could see Aziraphale, Gabriel, Nina & Maggie talking in the kitchen. They also might cut that bit of it for the film but, either way, that's the area where it seems to me like the kitchen might be-- hidden pretty deep in the back of the shop, suggested to us but completely out of sight of Heaven.
If we consider that the bookshop is being rolled out to us slowly and in an intentionally incomplete way so far in support of a story that is doing the same... and if we then ask what big rooms remain that we haven't yet seen? There's really only the kitchen and Aziraphale's bedroom.
So, what haven't we seen in the bookshop yet ahead of The Finale?
The kitchen and Aziraphale's bedroom... food and sex. 😉 Not really terribly dissimilar things to these two...
It's been there all along but, as the story hits its end game, I think they'll likely reveal it a little more directly and, if they keep going with the way they've been using the bookshop to tell the story so far, they're going to use going into the previously unseen bedroom in the bookshop to do it. The one, new room we're getting for sure in The Finale is Aziraphale's bedroom-- likely circa 1941. It'll be clear that while it's the first time we're seeing it, it's a space with which Crowley is already plenty familiar.
Then, off to their South Downs Cottage where they can finally just have their own damn house without all of these shenanigans.
Speaking of the bookshop, theories on what could be upstairs?
ooooo the BIG QUESTION.
so we can see a bit of the second floor in all these pics:
basically all we know for sure is there are A LOT MORE BOOKS, both stacked around the railing and on the circle of shelves. neil has decided not to comment on what else might be there (YET 👀) but he’s confirmed that much.
apart from that, we can see from the outside that there are six windows on the second floor:
i’m going to assume they’re part of the shop because they’re Very On Fire when the rest of the shop is on fire. SO. taking all that into account, you end up with something like this:
where the thin grey circle is the railing and the brown one is the bookshelves (as you can see in the first pic, it doesn’t circle all the way around!)
the rest is a complete mystery. i mean i’m sure the actual set was empty because they didn’t need to fill it, but in theory there’s room for some interesting stuff! with the first floor for scale i can imagine a whole flat built around that circle of shelves — a bed aziraphale never sleeps in, comfy chairs, every other angel knick-knack he’s encountered in his life. in my personal headcanon it’s all books and hoarded items covered in dust, which he leaves for authenticity.
thank you for asking!! i’d love to hear other people’s thoughts if they want to share :)
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Saying “I Love You” for the first time. - Mouthwashing HC
These are written with the pretense that… THEY LIKE U BACK!! (Except for Swansea cause he’s married…sorri) THIS WAS SO PAINFUL CAUSE I WAS WRITING THEM IN PARAGRAPHS AND THEN… boom. 1000+ words lost. Never writing on tumblr again, rookie mistake. Anyways, enjoy!! Promise next post will be higher effort
Curly (Pre-Crash)
He’s quick to make a teasing comment on your unprofessionalism, confessing to your captain and all. But he’s honestly super flustered and trying not to grin like a kid on Christmas Day.
He takes a moment to sit with it. It’s likely that you two would have made advances toward each other for a while, as Curly is the type to take things slow if he’s serious. After a year of pining, you two were finally dating! But hearing those words from your lips brought him to such happiness because he knew you meant it unconditionally, without expecting anything from him.
After this instance, it became common practice for both of you to remind the other of your love. Curly had never been a “words-of-affirmation” kind of guy, but this was an exception. “I love you” turned into his favorite phrase, as it was the perfect way to release the tension building in his heart from just how badly he had fallen for you.
Curly (Post-Crash)
He honestly couldn’t believe that you could stomach looking at him, let alone still sit with romantic feelings for him. It brought him to tears when he heard it, unable to comprehend how somebody could show him such boundless affection and care. He wasn’t used to unconditional love.
He forced himself through the immense pain to slur the words back, and that’s when you began to cry. He forced it out again and again, until you convinced him through pleading not to speak. You knew how much it hurt him, so you assured him that knowing was enough. You didn’t need the reassurance.
Upon your return to Earth, Curly not only had surgeries to make his face a little more structurally sound, but he had attended speech therapy to make up for the years he spent in near silence. One of the first things he learned was your name, and then “I love you.” It brought you to tears hearing it again for the first time in so long. It was okay though, as he could hold you in his scarred arms as long as you needed to cry it all out.
Daisuke
At first, he thought you were being silly. “Aww, I love you too,” he giggled. It wasn’t until you spoke up again with a more serious tone that he realized, and you swear you’d never seen a man turn red so fast. He was so taken aback, asking you at least five times if you were serious and if you were sure. Once his nerves were satisfied, he returned the gesture.
“I love you too. Like a lot, a lot. Soooo much. Like, I really thought I was tweaking out or something from like, the way my whole body would go numb around you and my brain would get fuzzy-“ his drawn out explanation on how his romantic feelings for you overwhelmed him made you laugh. Within the next day, you two were dating.
Even before you two got together, Daisuke ranted to anybody who would listen about just how perfect you were. Now? Oh, man. Swansea has been really considering throwing him out into space after hearing about your confession for the twentieth time from his loud-ass mouth.
Anya
It was honestly a relief to her that you had said something first. She had been trying her best to stay professional, but seeing you all the time, your smile and laugh, the way you spoke passionately about what you loved; it made it harder every day as she fell further for you. You were one of the first people she grew close to on the Tulpar, and the first she went to when Jimmy… did what he did. The trust between you both was ample and strong.
She was quick to say it back, like it was a breath of air she’d been holding in way too long and needed out. You two laughed from the sheer relief on her face, teasing her thoroughly about it. She didn’t hesitate to grill you right back for being the one who confessed first. It shut you up pretty fast. You both agreed within the hour to start dating!
There were mixed reactions among the crew. Some extremely supportive, and then some straight up bitter and resentful (Jimbo). Jimmy began to treat you especially cruelly, and you refused to stand by and let it happen. Curly also helped to defend you when he could, seemingly coming to his senses about Jimmy’s behavior. You could tell that Anya felt intense guilt for your pain, but you assured her that it wasn’t her fault. It was your decision to date her knowing everything you did. You were happy by her side. She certainly cried over that privately, completely enamored.
Swansea
Swansea is married, so he knew to take your words in a familial sense. He didn’t return it, saying something like, “You’d better kid. With all I do for you.” But when you him on his lonesome in the utility room? Yeah, he smiled about it.
f you had a bad childhood due to your parents, Swansea could tell pretty quick. He never considered it his problem, but even still, he took you under his wing with Daisuke. He wanted to give you guidance in the ways he knew how. You deserved that, at least. He would go out of his way to help you when you needed, mostly with solving practical problems. He had never been the most emotionally aware, but he tried with you. He figured even if he couldn’t assist you much, it’d be good practice for his daughter on the way.
That’s not to say he never had any advice. He struggled to comfort, but he was quick to pick up on your mistakes and told you the blatant truth. You appreciated that, even if he was harsh at times, cause it helped you become a better person.
Jimmy
Your confession was certainly an ego boost, but nothing past that. He couldn’t believe that you could say something like “I love you” to someone like him without there being pity behind it. Even still, he returned the gesture because he knew that getting with you would make you so much easier to use. He took the opportunity.
The entire crew, aside from you two, were completely flabbergasted when they found out you two were together. Swansea was quick to ask “Why,” hoping to understand the reason behind such a horrible decision on your part. He didn’t get a good answer from you. Anya felt such pity for you, sure that a good person like you had been manipulated into that position. Even still, she couldn’t help you without putting herself in danger, so she kept her distance.
After the crash, Jimmy took out all his frustrations on you in private through abuse: sexual, physical, verbal, and however else he felt in the moment. Nobody was confused when you started wearing more covering clothes beneath your uniform. Swansea was the only one to really step up against Jimmy when he found that he was hurting you. You had to beg Swansea not to kill Jimmy for that alone, and even still, jimmy got a beating. Daisuke checked on you as much as possible, worrying constantly for your well being. Curly found your relationship to be one more thing to feel guilt over, as he once again couldn’t do a single thing to protect somebody from him.
#mouthwashing x reader#daisuke mouthwashing#jimmy mouthwashing#curly mouthwashing#anya mouthwashing#swansea mouthwashing#mouthwashing game#mouthwashing#mouthwashing headcanon
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Something Something erotically taking off Gil Galads rings — yeah with my mouth
Yepyepyep ♪(^∇^*) Anon I'm so glad we're on the same page about this. I've been thinking about this exact idea waaay longer than id like to admit so why not have a lil drabble 🎇
Gil Galad x gn reader
Lightly nsft
At the end of a hard day you only want to comfort your king.
You shivered at the High King's touch, his warm palm finally making contact with your cheek. A seemingly simple act of comfort that spoke volumes coming from your beloved ruler. Yet again the two of you had found yourselves partners in a dance of missteps and maybes, of following an easier path only to be drawn back to an endless forest.
"No more words of sorrow." Gil Galad spoke lowly, cupping your chin to raise your eyes to his.
Your whole face felt alight under the gaze of those wise brown eyes you'd come to adore. For what felt a lifetime, the two of you studied each other caught under the weight of everything still unsaid. You were moths transfixed by the heated glow of your own desire.
"Is that an order, my king?" You mange, not breaking the gaze.
"Yes." He breathed as his thumb rubbed small circles onto your skin. "These burdens are mine to worry over. Do not concern yourself."
"Would that I could lighten your load, my king." Your faced reddened farther, your voice plain with yearning. "That I could take these worries from you." without another thought you turned, nuzzling into the familiar palm.
You thanked the Valar he did not move anyway even when you pressed kiss after kiss into his palm, his wrist, his fingertips. Your love for your king threated to drawn you if you could not release it that very moment. You could not bring yourself to meet his eye but your fears were dashed as his thumb began to trace ever so slowly against your lip. A moan escaped you as your body- yet again- moved of its own accord and took his thumb inside your mouth.
Gil Galad froze as you set to work, immediately intoxicated on the taste of his flesh. You lapped at the digit and curled your tongue around it accidently loosening the ring sitting at the base. With a soft hum you removed it altogether before freeing his thumb. Sheepishly you pulled the ring from your lips ready to apologize when you were halted by the look on your king's face. The surprise on his parted lips was overshadowed by the unmistakable lust burning in those perfect eyes.
A playful smile danced over your mouth before your tongue found the underside of Gil Galad's index finger and slowly licked up the length. The High king released a shaken breath but he did not dare turn his eyes from yours as you sucked it into you mouth. You ran your lips tip to base again and again humming in delight. The feeling of his rough skin was enough to make you melt. That, and the realization just how much larger your king's hands were than yours, how thick his digits were, how they might feel else where.
Your head was swimming by the time you pulled free the second ring. When had Gil Galad captured your waist with his free hand? When had he moved so close you could feel his hot panting breaths on your face.
"I-I am sorry for my..." You're not sure what else to say as you silently bag him to let you go on.
"No." Gil Galad, the High King himself, the most wise elf you had ever met, now fought for words. Again he brought his adapt fingertips to brush over your lips with an adoration that weakened your knees. "You honor me. Never have I been adorned with such a precious gem as these."
"Let me adore you." you sigh. " As you deserve to be." Keeping your eyes fixed to his you took both his middle and ring finger fully into your mouth with a single motion. You gave yourself over fully to the lewdness of the act and gave your beloved a show of just how you yearned to please him. You sucked deeply not caring for the wet sounds and light gagging at the length of them. Well worth it to watch Gil Galad's eyes roll back before shutting them tightly. He shuddered and lowly rumbled your name, a vibration that shot straight to your aching core. You pressed your thighs together trying to quell you own need.
The High King let out a sharp groan and to your surprise he ripped his fingers from your mouth. The protest forming in you throat was snuffed out as his lip captured yours. His mouth hot as it was impatient and terribly needy. His tongue just as curious and hungry as yours. Your arms locked around his neck as Gil Galad embraced you, pressing your body tight to him which drew urgent moans from both of you. There could be no more pretending you did not burn for each other. Not after the rush of heated confessions spoken between kisses. Not after feeling the steel hard testament to your king's desire pressed eagerly against your stomach. Not after the night that was in store for you. One neither you would ever forget.
#im so weak for this idea lord#thank you anon#might make this longer someday idk#gil galad#gil galad x reader#trop#the rings of power#smut#kinda#dividers by sweetmelodygraphics
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Hi, not to sound like a creep but I was trying to find this one reply to ask about the Chosen series because I remembered something and I wanted to see if you're the one who said it. But then I couldn't find it. Stumbled into this one post where you said your least favorite medium is anime and I'm quite curious about that now. I don't generally have an issue when people say they don't like anime, as a whole, but I try to understand why. Of course even if you just said "I just don't like it" then I could respect that too, since I can not push it.
I think it's like a language I don't speak. Even the English-dubbed versions. In anime, it's not made by people in my culture, for my culture. So, I don't understand it very well. I don't understand why everyone's screaming. I absolutely don't understand the character designs. I don't understand the use of blushing. I don't understand the humor or the drama. I don't understand why one interaction can take several "episodes," and the dialogue is unrealistic the entire time. People don't talk like that. And it would be one thing if people talked in an unrelatable cadence once, as part of the "style" of a film or show, but it's across the board for every anime I've seen.
There's nothing wrong with that, per se. Like I said, it's just made for a different culture, one I'm not in. And that's fine. Could I learn it? Could I engross myself in it until I feel what the media is trying to make me feel and get what they're trying to say?
Yeah. I could.
But most often, it doesn't feel worth it. It doesn't feel like the anime I've seen is really trying to point to a significant truth or remind people of goodness and beauty, so much as it is pointless entertainment.
Otherwise, why is there so much gratuitous cleavage? Whats with the emphasis on violence violence violence? Plus cursing? Why are all of the "attractive" characters a little-girl stereotype or a sexy femme fatale stereotype? And what's with the feminine looking dude characters? Why does one fight take six episodes? Why does one "romance" last an entire show but consist of nothing except gasps and blushes?
Not a fan.
I have seen one or two anime that clearly have a point. They're Studio Ghibli, though.
And again, I'm not saying anime's have no point in general. I'm saying I'd have to understand the culture to get the point, but the culture itself seems to be based around values that I don't find valuable. And a lot of those "values" if I'm reading them right are the ones our Western culture is starting to push down throats more and more, and I don't like those, either, so there you go.
I also find it odd that so many young Western men are drawn to anime. I don't think it's an awesome thing. All the anime I've ever seen: Demonslayer, Naruto, etc. doesn't have anything particularly good for them in it. There's a ton of violence, of egos getting slung around, yelling, and terribly long gratuitous brain-numbing pacing, along with sensual gasping and drama-for-drama's sake. And I know my young male friends are no more Japanese or understanding of Japanese culture than I am. So what are they getting out of it? They can't ever tell me.
Maybe you can?
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with the rough draft for chapter two nearing its completion
if i may dare say this on main, but actually i am unbelievably excited to get to paint demise (tiddies) again
#ganondoodles talks#.................#you could say i could have drawn it this whole time#but its different when you HAVE to for a comic#like when im working on comic chapters i dont want to draw him outside of that#bc im gonna draw him so much in the comic#and im forced to do it in alot of different poses and backgrounds and lighting#so doing it outside of that feels like wasted time#bc im gonna do it there anyway#AND its practice#i have realized i dont want to do studies really#bc with this long ass comic im practicing everythign anyway#so i might as well work on that- slow as i am#im gonna get better with every page anyway- if i practiced more before that or not#.............................also .......... tiddies#heehee#also .......... drawing hylia and demise fighting bloody feels just like that meme of the 'sicko' guy in the window going 'hahaha yes! yes!
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BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY!
#hermitaday#bdubs fanart#bdouble0 fanart#hermitcraft fanart#hermitblr#my art#bdubs#im so happy#a day where i get to draw bdubs is a good day#my favourite guy. lich rally.#this is one of the softer bdubs i've drawn i think..#as much as high energy matches him 99% of the time idk idk he's so sweet that 1% of the time#and this season rlly has me feeling that. secret life rlly changed alot of these mfs in my head.#secret life is such amazing pay off for the whole life series im always saying tihs#anyway yeah insanity aside his builds this season have been so incredible i know bdubs builds are bdubs builds but like. wow#i think we should all appreciate idk. the way he plays w/ scale#makes a tiny box house that's like 6 blocks tall and it somehow looks so detailed like if you squint it could be an oil painting#and those trees. idk what else to say man. those trees.#anyway (insanity goggles on again) bdubs living far off happily in his cottage a bit off the grid. makes me so happy.#idk. bdubs learning to chill. it's so awesome.#his interactions with etho joel and pearl have been so cool to see#ethubs is gonna ethubs#but him and pearl are so funny together too. i love the kinda? sheepishness he talks to her with lol#and joel. i haven't quite figured out exactly what's going on between him and joel but i like it.#i think. bdubs wants to hit joel with sticks. but in like. an oh you rascal kinda way. little troublemaker you#i don't fuck with familial headcanons and I don't like assigning people parental roles. But.#coughs. okay that's enough.#i love bdubs alot he's my favourite. good night guys.
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in my head I'm just screaming at my sister STOP GETTING ON MY CASE ABOUT THE THEATRE BOY all the time
#I was laughing about different categorizations of pretty bc I was like ''yeah I'm cute not hot''#and she was like ''the THEATRE BOY thought you were!'' and I was like SHUT THE FRICK UP YOU LITTLE BRAT#and then I had to mildly explain that that whole thing actually happened because I got pressured into acting on a Certified Theater Crush#which is to say +#which is to say: NOT a real crush. I realize this now. it was the fact that he was the most calm of the entire cast and crew#and I (introverted and out of place) was drawn to that. I don't think I ever actually wanted to date him.#and I feel like because now I DO have a real crush (the sound guy) I have to defend myself about this#and I want to cry every time she brings it up#because now there's a guy who I DO genuinely like as a person and DO want to date#and I'm not willing to act on it bc 1) the only reason I did with the Theatre Boy was peer pressure and 2) I'm sick of forcing my way#into every friendship LET ALONE relationship I could ever have#AND I'm happy just being friends!!!! I'm not going to push it#but I can't TELL anyone this!!!! I want to SCREAM
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This is technically a Diana's age poll but I framed it partially around Julia's rescue because that's the event I need to contextualize and whether or not Diana is a thing yet is p important for my purposes. I would keep the Pérez run and postcrisis continuity in mind when answering this bc that's when this is relevant but I'd keep in mind that even though Diana is very young there (like early 20s) we don't know I don't think if she ages differently as a child (esp as a themysciran AND being made from clay) and in some versions she is older than she looks and was made earlier
Edit: I accidentally logic-ed this out in the tags lol 🤦♀️but feel free to still vote however you want. Going to publish this anyway bc I think I made some good points later in my tags
#blah#the 45 years is a guesstimation of julias age w her being in her late 40s#bc she has a middle school aged daughter which would make you lean a bit younger but shes also highly respected prof at harvard (is she the#dept head? i think so. and has a career that would suggest older. and shes also drawn middle aged so 🤷♀️#i would say late 40s early 50s for her honestly. but i moved it down a lil bit bc of vanessas age#wait shit i may have contradicted logic here bc wasnt the diana trevor stuff supposed to have happened before dianas birth. and that was#wwii. which would be btwn 42 and 45 years. BC PÉREZ!TREVOR IS OLD I FORGOT THAT#okay so actually there still could be a question of what happened first the timeline would just be much shorter#but then wouldnt julias family be boating during wwii? that makes no sense#im definitely thinkimg too hard about this probably. logically it would make the most sense if diana was like 20smth in reality. but thats#its own basket of worms honestly. like what do you mean hippolyta only had like 20 yrs w her daughter out of a lifespan of thousands of#years. what do you MEAN she became champion and ambassador so young like#like also thats the point though. she had to wear a mask in the challenge for a reason. her inexperience with men is what makes her the kind#of ambassador they need. and her youth and relation to hippolyta and role as the baby of the amazons is one of the things that makes her#ambassadorship SO important is bc she fulfills that role in an ancient sense. where it would be a sign of great trust and respect to send#someone close to the crown as an envoy bc it shows you mean business and arent going to reneg on whatever the deal is. bc if you do they#shoot the messenger#god anyways i very much answered my own question here in the tags like 100%. esp in regards to the pérez canon bc he very much laid this out#and i was trying to weasel my way out of it. only that didnt work and the decisions he made he made for a reason and they have huge#narrative importance. damn. okay then#i always write the shittiest posts and the best tags and then have to keep the post to keep the tags#i rlly need to make these tags posts ugh. anyways keeping this up bc of my tags abt diana and ambassadorship#also sidenote I LOVE HIPPOLYTA#just though id mention that. i love how much shes motivated by love and i also love when she makes fucked up decisions bc of that and has to#live with them. woman of all time FOR REALS#god this is making me want to reread historia again lol bc its the one ww comic i own. also its fire. and hippolyta gets to make shitty#decisions motivated by emotion and live w the consequences. and the comic is actually good unlike when that happened in the messner-loebs#run. which was the other instance of that ive read rlly. 10000% sure there are others but i havent fully gotten there yet.#i mean ive read other comics where she makes painful decisions thats like her whole deal but there are different vibes to those than the two#i mentioned. like the exile thing in ww year 1 or rlly anytime she has to send diana away
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~ ~ ~
#I have so much I want to say but nothing I can actually articulate#how do I make you see how much you’re hurting me? how do I make you see how much I love you at the same time?#you grew a conscience too little too late and I was left to hang for it#I keep trying to be who you want but it feels like there’s no version of me that will make you happy#and I feel the distance growing between us every day because of how you’re pushing me away#but still you’ll say everything is fine and I just have to accept things the way they are#it doesn’t matter what I say or do because everything I say/do is always wrong in your eyes#I’m always fucking things up somehow and making you angry#so it’s at the point where I just have to stifle my feelings and swallow my pride and try to keep you happy#do you remember how we became friends? you reached out to me to help me with my anxiety from a post you stumbled across#but I feel that now if I were to share any of those kinds of feelings with you I’d be mostly ignored or it would start another fight#how can you say you’re always supportive when there’s no way to talk to you when I really need you because you’re simply not here?#how can you be mad at me for wanting more time with you when there are days you only send me one message and nothing else?#and still the thought of losing you hurts so much that I’d rather just concede to whatever you want#I’d rather let you crush me and dictate how our whole relationship will go than see you walk away from me#I know that’s so unhealthy but I don’t care anymore because I just need you that much#I hate this stupid connection we seem to have and how we’re still so drawn to each other even when we’re hurt and angry#it would be so much easier if you were just some guy I could block#but you’re not because you’ve become my best friend and that in itself is so horribly pathetic it makes me sick#I just can’t get these thoughts out and so I feel sick and anxious and I just want to sleep this all away#how do I say any of this to you? i don’t think I could really#personal
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There are two wolves inside me. One is trying to convince me to do extensive research for the job interview tomorrow and the other is saying “wing it”
#there’s yet another that’s saying ‘cancel it’ but no i want to do this#i’m just sick of working from home. it has made me realise that i have zero ability to self-motivate myself or to set up a schedule#and stick to it#(case in point: i’m on here at 10:19 on a thursday morning instead of working)#thank god i don’t have concrete deadlines to stick to because i would’ve failed all of them and gotten fired#anyway. to be honest i don’t know how much research i NEED to do? like i don’t know what they’re going to ask me#it’s either going to be a super informal interview where they basically have already made up their minds to hire me if i seem credible#or it’s going to be a long drawn-out process of structured interview questions and ‘tell me about a time you went above and beyond at work’#which… is a GARBAGE question i’m sorry. above and beyond??? girl i earned minumum fucking wage at my last job#i’ll go above and beyond when you pay me more than the bare fucking minimum. £12 an hour?? you’re lucky i showed up and didn’t steal stuff#i think my ‘research’ is just going to be making shit up to be honest#i have figured out where this place is geographically. i have looked at the website (which mostly just had pictures of a big pool)#i want to look at coshh guidelines and shit again and i want to make up some stories about me being an exemplary employee#because i know that just having been slightly above average is not enough. i’ve been slightly above average at most things my whole life#and it’s never enough#tbh i might just print out the job description and highlight the parts i already fit (so i know to talk about that in the interview)#and then find ways to make it look like i COULD fit the parts i don’t fit. or could learn to do so#i don’t want to doooooo this i hate job interviews. i hate bureaucracy#i hate having to beg for a job from companies that should be begging people to work for them#considering the fucking insane amount of duties they want to give you for fucking minimum wage. but anyway#if you need me i’m going to fight with my printer. it’s trying its best but ‘its best’ is not good#personal
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Why am I flipping tf out over my roommate going into my room when I wasn't home and leaving a package on my bed it's literally not a big deal and they were trying to be helpful but I am shaking right now I should be happy I got my new favorite shirt but I'm so angry
#Like genuinely seething with rage over something so innocuous I shouldn't be angry#But at the same time I'm like...#The door was shut. When did I ever say you could come in here (I didn't). I wasn't home. Don't touch my stuff. You could have left it#Outside the door. My room is a mess and they saw. AND DON'T TOUCH MY STUFF#I feel like I shouldn't have to sit them down and be like 'hey I don't want you going in my room when I didn't say you could go in there'#Like I feel like that's common sense when u live with other people but I guess not?????#Like it really bothers me cuz I'd NEVER go into someone's room when they weren't there w/o express permission#Fucks sake I linger outside the doorway til they say I can come in when they are there and we're talking#I feel like that's just basic decency because it's their space#Why can't you respect mine and not go in my room when you don't have permission?????#At least text me first????!#THE DOOR WAS SHUT THATS WHAT'S REALLY BOTHERING ME#THE DOOR WAS SHUT WHY WOULD YOU LOOK AT A CLOSED DOOR TO SOMEONE'S BEDROOM AND JUST WALK IN WITHOUT EVER ASKING#Sorry. I know I'm being super irrational right now#I just. My mom used to go through my stuff when I lived at home and throw out whatever she wanted#She would wait until I left the house and then throw things out and leave the rest in a giant pile of trash on the floor#It was always when I was having a decent day too. She'd treat me totally normally the whole way home and then I'd walk into my room to it#Absolutely destroyed and her response was always a cool 'well you should have cleaned it then'#I used to have to dig through the garbage to get the stuff I had attachments to back#She once threw out an entire shoebox filled with my drawings because it was 'too messy' but literally the lid was slightly askew from being#Overfilled. Instead of getting me a bigger container or another shoebox she just fucking tossed it#I lost so much childhood art from that it's part of the reason I refuse to throw anything I've ever drawn away#Anyway this is why I'm overreacting and being irrational and not letting people walk all over me with no complaints#Don't worry though I'm working on squishing any other reservations I have about being a doormat#That way in a couple more years I'll just be a shell of a person and then people will finally like having me around#AJDGDHDHDBMSBDGDJDHDBDMDBDBDN#Grumble grumble
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i be been rocking back and forth while reading part 6-8 this is the COOLEST WAY TO BRING BACK NAI. ??!?!?! THE BRANCHES ? THIS WORKS WITH VASH’S ROOTS oh my god it’s so over. it’s gonna plague my head again what oh my go I FEEL LIKE A WINNER
Beware of major Trigun spoilers!
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Read from right to left
Trigger warning for violence, blood, gore and body horror! Hooray!
If you want a little background music, try listening to "Everybody knows that you're insane" by QOTSA. I was listening to this when I worked out the chapter in my head and it fits Nai SO well, especially the lyrics! Yeah so, both boys are back from being human to part human/part plant now...I hope you like how this played out, even though it got a lot bloodier than the first parts. Please imagine me continuously knocking Nai on the head with a squeaky toy hammer. This is what I'm doing here in blorbo speach. Also, let me know what you think! I'd love to hear your thoughts and any feedback is welcome, as always! <3
#BACK IN THE TAGS FREAKING OUT LETS GO#I MADE MY FRIEND READ THIS THE OTHER DAY SHE WAS IN SHOCK THE WHOLE TIME#i sent the new parts to her and she just went WHAT#glad someone was as hyper about this as me#it’s 11pm i’m gonna think about this for the next 2 hours aren’t i#when the. the nai characterizationohmy god#YOU GET IT YOUUUU YOU GET IT#this comic series could make me eat drywall#op i’m sorry that im yelling in the tags again i hope i can be your little circus clown once more#i need to reread this#i’m gonna reread this#my sister had to hear me squeal about this for a whole 2 minutes i feel bad#she told me to shut up at some point because i literally started jumping i deadass went YIPPIE#it is 11 pm#maybe i should draw this au more#sure as hell gonna draw nai after this like LOOK AT HIM?#AND REM?#REM MAIN CAST? HOLY SHIT?#this au bro it’s gonna make me fill up my notebooks i’m supposed to be taking notes not drawing#in my notes you see vash vash vash vash nai nai vash wolfwood vash nai nai nai nai REM nai nai legato??? nai vash nai n#no like seriously i feel like this au and like 2 fic series have kick started me drawing trigun aus of my own#i can’t stop drawing roleswap nai and now that i’m seeing MORE GREAT NAI CHARACTERIZATION#I WILL NOT ESCAPE#i think your nai’s should explode (respectfully)#if i spelled anything wrong its bc i keep going back to my photos app to stare at one of the nai panels drawn in this comic series#specifically the one where rem comes in and nai is all fucked up and he just has this look on his face#and then the one where he says you were scared#OUGHHHHH im dead im dying im dead this fancomic needs to make a guest appearance at my funeral
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today at work an older man came into the store, pulled me to the side, and then loudly and in front of a line of customers declared that it makes him feel like everything's going to be okay when he sees me in the store and he thanked me for my year of service there. he insisted that we hold hands. the entire time. "i'm not gonna make you hug me, but..." were his exact words. it was unpleasant
#like it was deeply heartfelt and wayyy too drawn out#and i feel like all i need to say is i work retail and like#if you've worked retail then... you know exactly what i'm talking about#like sir i am sick as hell and running on fumes and i don't know your first name could you please get out of my store#also didn't help that the whole time he was insisting i should dye my hair half red half green for the holidays#bc apparently im pulling off blue sooo well he KNOWS i could pull off red and green too#like. hello. okay. uhm. i don't know you i don't like christmas and you have no say what i do over my body#thanks
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