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just watched the creator and I'm obsessing over this robot dude

#good #i’m not alone #the creator 2023

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he looks like a little kid explaining the rules of a game he made up entirely to his dad

#better call saul #nacho varga #ignacio varga

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Tight Grip, Broken Dam

Part 2, Part 3

You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: emotional hurt/comfort, cuddling, crying, bb got traumaaa! ambiguous relationship

Word Count: 1,092

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

A/N: hiiii my writer's block has been killing me, so i went back to my roots with some good old quickie comfort fic featuring spider-man. i hope the rust isn't too visible! (ps: your author [that’s me!] is nonbinary and has they/them pronouns!)

You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him.

He’s there for comfort. For rest.

So when the blanket lifts and the mattress shifts under you with the fluid movement of his body sliding into place next to yours, you hum and shift to make room for him. You don’t get far before one of his arms snakes around your middle. There’s a brief moment where a TV show your mom used to watch flashes through your mind, a woman calling a man’s arms ‘pythons’ and biting her lip in a comical display of attraction. You remember the man in question, and you think if his arms were pythons, Miguel’s are anacondas.

The thought makes you chuckle through your nose.

“What’s so funny?” He whispers, his breath swirling over the back of your neck, tickling and warming the skin there in equal measure.

“Mm. Just something stupid from when I was a kid,” you mumble-whisper back, taking his hand in yours and pulling it up to cradle against your chest, your heart, fingers intertwined.

He hums, shifting and pulling you more snugly against him, resting his face on the back of your neck, the soft breaths from his nose going down the loosened back collar of your pajama shirt. It’s really just an old oversized t-shirt, one you’ve had for much too long and lined with holes around the peeling graphic that rises from the hem, but Miguel has never made you feel bad or self-conscious about it. You both understand the need to hold on to something from the past. He has his videos, and you have old clothes.

You let the silence grow, wrapping the two of you in its soft cotton cocoon. Letting out a deeper relaxed breath, you start to disentangle your fingers from his. His grip tightens, his body tensing so imperceptibly that if you hadn’t been pressed against him with nearly your whole body you wouldn’t have noticed. Even his breath catches for a moment.

“Shh,” you soothe. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He lets out a measured, shaky breath, nodding into the back of your neck. He squeezes your hand gently, and then releases it.

You hum, letting your hand rub comforting lines into his forearm, moving up and down the soft skin and hair. He’s had the forethought to take off his suit this time, at least, and donned the spare clothes you keep in your closet so that he doesn’t dirty your sheets with multiversal grime and blood.

His relaxed grip pulls you in even tighter now—his arm a roller coaster safety bar across your ribs, your back now a part of his chest instead of being pressed to it.

“You’re okay,” you whisper. “Everything is okay.”

You know it’s harder for him some days than others. The trauma of his loss, the weight of his self appointed responsibility in the wake of it, as if he can atone for his sin of having ever wanted.

And then he shivers, and with the fusion of your spine to his sternum it rolls through your own body as if it had started there. You realize, with his next shuddering breath, that he’s not shivering—he’s shaking.

“Miguel? Hey, hey,” you whisper again, shifting in his grip. The safety bar of his arm loosens enough for you to roll over to face him, and yet he still tries to hide his face in your neck, in the pillow. He’s not actually crying, not yet, but you can already see the dam beginning to spill over. It finally breaks when you try to duck your head to see his face, pulling back so you don’t go cross eyed looking for him.

The first tear rolls from his eye closest to the pillow, running a smooth path as it escapes to land on the pillowcase, and his face twists as he holds back a sob.

Immediately you pull him back to you, pulling his face against your collar bone, cradling his head and stroking his hair.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper into the hair above his ear. “I’ve got you.”

And the dam breaks, great shuddering breaths fighting their way out of his chest, up through his throat, out of his gritted teeth to land on you and the space between. The tears come in earnest, and soon your neck is wet with salt and grief, his face pressed into the juncture of your shoulder and neck as if it can protect him from whatever chases him. All the while he keeps his arms around you, his fingers fisting into the back of your shirt, digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. He doesn’t loosen his hold, not for a moment, as if any moment you could evaporate and only his embrace could keep your molecules from floating into the ether.

Eventually the shuddering gentles, then stops, the tears drying up altogether. You continue stroking his hair, your fingers gently grazing his scalp in soothing movements.

And then you do something you’ve never done before, instinct acting before you can second guess yourself at this late hour.

You kiss his hair.

His breath catches, then releases in a strong steady breeze across your salty wet skin and soaked shirt. All of the tension in his body seems to leave with it, his bruising grip going lax and his fingers releasing your shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t normally–”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘men shouldn’t cry’ types,” you mumble into his hair, tone light and teasing. Only now does it strike you how incredible it is that this enormous man who could probably level your apartment with minimum effort is bundled into your arms, face tucked into your neck. You wonder how it appears, him shrinking down to fit into the embrace of your much shorter frame.

“No,” he huffs through his nose. “No, I just…”

“I know,” you whisper into his hair, pressing another kiss into the soft caramel of it.

“Yeah.”

“Hard day?” you volunteer into the quiet after another moment of petting his hair.

He doesn’t answer with words, simply sighing and tightening his arms around you for a moment, pulling you closer before relaxing again. You hum, and the two of you stay like that, lulled to sleep by the soft rhythm of one another’s heartbeats and breaths.

#back from the dead to share this fic #because it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara #fic rec #love love love

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happy 3-year anniversary to this iconic video :)

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THE CLONE WARS 4.05: Mercy Mission

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Pedro Pascal & Steven Yeun | Actors on Actors

#the love in their eyes #steven yeun #pedro pascal

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I had to meme this

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No one:

My marvel bbygirls: a depressed super soldier with metal arm, a god of mischief that committed genocide, a mercenary with DID, a golden manchild, a literal raccoon

#my bbys

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Boyd Holbrook + Pedro Pascal (& Maurice Compte) Narcos 1.02 -The Sword of Simón Bolivar

#boyd holbrook #steve murphy #the prettiest boy

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#merry christmas to me #can't wait to read the shit out of them #andor!!!

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#my boy boyd #ugh my heart

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AWWWWWW THANK YOU SO MUCH. I love this silly fic so much, and I’m glad you loved it too! We need more Safin shenanigans!

Spilled Milk (Tea).

Pairing: lyutsifer safin x gn!reader

Summary: safin tries boba for the first time

Word Count: 775

A/N: this one’s dedicated to the milk tea bro. i hope he’s okay :,) also, turns out i can’t balance work, class, and tumblr altogether so i had to sacrifice my bby for the time being. thank you all for your patience!

going to try and squeeze in more drabble for this guy. they’ll be out of order, but i’ll list them chronologically on the masterlist :) and, there’s a part two.

also. no beta reading. you’ve been warned.

Keep reading

#y'all are so nice #ugly cry

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Wolf’s Defining Shots

#animators really went hard #and i’m here for it #animationedit #puss in boots #wagner moura

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#That’s his thing™ (insp)

#the last of us #the mandalorian #pedro pascal

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I really went from simping Attorney Jung to simping the entire damn cast (except Minwoo, he ain’t redeemed in my book)

Lee Jun Ho looking at Woo Young Woo  Extraordinary Attorney Woo Episodes 1-16

#extraordinary attorney woo #lee junho

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The Refill.

Pairing: lyutsifer safin x gn!reader

Summary: a direct sequel to spilled milk (tea). safin brings you a gift to make up for your loss

Word Count: 1.5k

Notes: power imbalance/the start of a workplace romance (reader calls safin ‘sir’), mention of character deaths, two people mourning their familial losses, reader anxiety in the beginning

A/N: new year, new fic! it’s been ages since i’ve written anything here, so naturally i had to come back with safin. also, feelings are blooming in this chapter?? it’s about damn time 😭 and shout out to @crewman-penelope​ for always tagging me on your sunday safin posts! they’re great reminders that i love this wretched man

as usual, no beta reading. open to feedback! hny y’all!

You don’t like Primo. Sure, you’re no saint yourself, but at least you don’t manhandle people like he did. The man caught you by surprise. One moment, you’re leaving the office. The next, you’re pulled into a dark, mysterious hallway with instructions to follow him.

You were about five minutes in when you finally voiced your confusion. “Where are we going?” Are you going to kill me? Did Safin order this? Because of what happened last night?

He stopped, causing you to run into his back with a light “oomph!” Rubbing your nose, you looked over his shoulder, finding a flight of stairs that led to a dark entryway. If impending doom was an architecture, it'd be this.

“Go.” He stepped aside, gaze cold and void of any indication regarding your circumstance. If anything, he looked irritated.

You took your first step, then your second, before looking back at him. But Primo did little to nothing to ease your mind. With a sigh, you willed your legs to carry you to the very top until...

“Doctor.”

Safin knelt in front of a table. Ever the composed gentleman, he smiled upon your arrival and gestured to that mat on the other side of the table across from him. He held onto a cup of tea, its half-empty content evident of his patience. “Take a seat.”

“Sir,” you returned his greeting and obliged. Your eyes roamed the space around you, taking in its bare form. It felt unfinished, unused. Only the table, mats and lamp occupied the room. The cold concrete covered the walls from top to bottom with the exception of the left wall, which featured a peculiar gaping hole.

“I brought you a gift.” Your attention snapped back to the man on the floor. His smile widened. He almost looked...excited? It was an odd thought. You’ve seen Safin smile before but they were always composed and polite. This was borderline eager in your book. He lifted a cup previously hidden behind the table and—

“Sir. Is that boba?”

“From the very same shop.”

“How did you-? But,” you stuttered. As far as you knew, the island was miles away from any civilization. “Did you go to London today?” You asked, trying to connect the dots in your mind because your boss didn’t travel to London just to get you boba?

"No. Primo did.”

“For a mission?”

“For this.” He pursed his lips, head tilting as he scanned your expression. “You’re upset.”

“No! I- I’m just-,” the words failed to form until you finally exhaled, “I’m just surprised.”

"I see.” His smile remained, but it was tense, not quite reaching his eyes anymore. He slowly retreated his hands, the cup dragging along the table, leaving behind a trail of condensation.

"Wait!” You grasped the cup without thinking, your fingers brushing against his knuckles as you held onto the top. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I’m just...confused and also kind of worried that I may have inconvenienced you over milk tea.”

His eyes dropped to your hand, then back up. “You can just say thank you.”

“Yes. Right. Thank you.”

“You’re very difficult to please.”

“I’ve been told I can be difficult overall,” you chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood. But his frown deepened, and you swallowed hard as brought the drink to your lips. “Again, thank you.”

Holy shit.

One sip was all it took. The flavors hit your taste buds all at once; you’ve forgotten how sweet milk tea can be. The past two years haven’t been bland per se, but they were certainly nutritional and healthy, focused on sustaining the island’s employees in optimal condition. Sugar existed, but it was minimal. You may or may not have had some withdrawals in the beginning. “Shit,” you whispered, “This is good. I forgot how much I missed boba.”

“Tell me. What else did you miss?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Surely, there’s more to your past life than just boba?”

“I wouldn’t be so certain. My life wasn’t all that existing before the island,” you shrugged.

Safin held your gaze. He was waiting.

“I suppose I miss- Okay. I had this neighbor, Mrs. Fletcher. She had this wonderful cat with the world’s most unfortunate name—Gregory. He’s a small tabby, had a hook for a tail.” You crooked your finger in a demonstration. “Not that I need a cat,” you quickly added.

“I’m sure Primo wouldn’t mind,” Safin sipped his tea.

“I’m pretty sure he would, sir.”

“What else?”

“Um. Musicals? Music in general, I guess,” you rolled your eyes back and forth in remembrance. “I hate to say it, but I miss cooking. I used to survive on congee. But I can make a mean char siu with fig jam.”

“Char siu with fig jam?” He frowned, skeptical.

“It’s an amazing combination. I had this food delivery service that delivered five times a week. It was my favorite dish out of everything. The rest were kind of lackluster.”

“We can add it to our menu if you’d like,” he offered.

“Thank you, sir, but I think I miss the act of cooking more than the food itself.”

“What else?” He asked again.

So you answered. And he asked again. So you answered again.

You’re not sure how much time had passed, but it was enough to elicit a yawn from you near the end. The boba was long gone, now a mere cup of water. You can feel your guards coming down. Your answers were more casual, less formal now, emboldened by sleep deprivation. “What about you, sir? What do you miss?”

His fingers traced along the ridges of his cup. “I’m afraid I don’t miss anything.”

“There’s got to be something,” you pushed. Safin quirked his eyebrow. Damn, the sugar wasn’t helping.

Safin hummed as he turned the wall. You followed his gaze. There was that hole again. “My sister used to sing this awful lullaby,” he said quietly. It was almost a hushed whisper, like a secret in the fog.

You stilled at his admittance. Never once have you heard Safin mention his family. And while stories of his past circulated the island, they were part of exaggerated speculation that no one confirmed.

“Awful because she was a horrible singer, not because the lyrics were bad. Vadim was a better singer. And my mother...” He trailed off as his gaze lowered to his empty cup. It didn’t take a genius to know what he was thinking.

You knew better than to press for more. “I miss my parents,” you sighed quietly, matching his volume and secrecy. “Sometimes, I wonder if things could have been different. They were ill, but.. I don’t know. I just think that I could’ve done things differently. Be a better child.” Your tongue swiped across your bottom lip as you swallowed thickly. “Don’t think they’d be fond of your evil plan,” you smiled. “Anyway,” you cleared your throat, “at least we know what you won’t miss.” You leaned forward conspiratorially. “Boba.”

Safin blinked.

“Sorry, that was a joke. I-”

He broke into a chuckle, so sudden, so unexpectedly. It must’ve surprised him, because his hand shot up to cover his mouth, but it was too late. He was already laughing. The sound grew louder and louder despite its quiet and calm nature. And you found yourself chuckling with him, finding his soft laughter strangely contagious this late at night.

“I want to show you something.” He whispered. “Come.” He rose to his feet with the same eagerness that you saw before.

You hastily followed his steps as he approached the wall with the hole. Except, it wasn’t a hole. It was a window to a small garden. You gasped as the pond came into view. There were foliages and flowers on one side, and a zen garden on the other, raked to perfection.

A soft, orange glow highlighted each ripple of the pond, casting a shadow along the rough edges of the logs around it. Sunlight, you realized with a start. Your breath hitched as you looked up at the sky. It was a clear morning. No clouds in sight. The stars hid behind the warm hue among the blue, painting a perfect gradient on the vast canvas.

"My father’s garden,” Safin explained. “You could say it was his prized possession. It’s toxic, of course, but perfectly safe to walk around.”

Your vision blurred as the tears welled in your eyes. “It’s beautiful,” you sniffed, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. Was the sky always this beautiful? You couldn’t recall the last time you looked up from the ground. It felt foolish, in retrospect, to ignore such a sight. What else did you miss out?

“Doctor.”

You turned to Safin, only to find grey eyes watching you. The sunlight kissed his scars, and you couldn’t tell if his gaze only appeared soft because of the sunlight or not. He was glowing, ethereal. And for once, he looked young and handsome, far from the intimidating man whom you once avoided at all cost.

You blushed at the growing realization and quickly dipped your head in a faux yawn. “Something tells me I’m going to miss this,” you exhaled. “Thank you.”

“Of course, doctor.” He replied quietly.

Despite feeling his gaze on you, you refused to look him in the eye. Instead, you focused on the sunrise and calming your fluttering heart.

#safin x reader #lyutsifer safin x reader #safin imagine

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Forrest Gump (1994) dir. Robert Zemeckis

#happy new year y'all