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tev-the-random · 11 months

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(Technically a distant continuation of this, but can be read on its own!)

His skin was an imitation of life that refused to age or scar. Although the years had moulded Jimmy into someone near unrecognisable, he looked no different than he did when he left Tumble Town. It was quite anticlimactic, to think he had nothing to show for his trials other than some patches on his clothes and perhaps a sharper wit to his eyes — metaphorically, that is. His actual eyes looked just as glassy as ever.

So after everything he went through to find himself here, he supposed the location was fitting. It, too, was rather anticlimactic: nothing but an old shack in the woods. It didn't even look dilapidated enough to be haunted. The forest didn't bother to have ominous crows cawing at him or any particularly disturbing tree — on the contrary, there were small patches of sunlight shining through the leaves above, and the smell of morning dew was fairly pleasant. If not for the peculiar plants growing in the little garden in front of him, which his cat sniffed suspiciously, he would have thought this was the wrong place.

These weren't plants you could normally find in the Overworld, that much Jimmy was sure of. From bushes of glowing, multicoloured berries to herbs that floated in the air like little leafy balloons, their roots hanging loose. The red vines crawling up a trellis close to the wall reminded him of the Nether, though the blossoming black flowers that grew on it would suggest otherwise.

"Awfully poisonous, those flowers."

He jumped, sword in hand.

Without producing shadow or sound, a person stood beside him, towering over Jimmy. Their silvery hair, washed out robes and sickly pale skin made them stand out against the background; a desaturated figure in the otherwise verdant woods.

There was a moment of silence in which Jimmy tried to gather himself. Any information he had about the one who supposedly lived here left his brain entirely. All of his well-thought-out bargains and self-confident arguments were startled out of him, leaving an uncertain tremble in his voice.

"Um..." He blanked.

In order to give him some more time to think — or maybe they just didn’t care enough to pay attention to him, — the stranger walked past the small man to take a closer look at their garden. They merely shooed Norman, who hissed at their approach before moving to stand beside his owner.

“You ever seen prettier experience bushes?” They said casually, getting rid of a few dead leaves on one of their plants. They examined its colourful berries carefully, only to let them go with a disappointed sound. “Incredible magical properties, but it’s so difficult to grow them right this time of the year...”

"Are you— are you the person I'm looking for?" Jimmy finally spoke. "I was told I could find a wizard in these woods that could help me with a curse."

By their curious demeanour and wise, elderly face, Jimmy expected them to respond with some enigmatic question of their own, something a mysterious master would say. Perhaps a meaningful silence and a sharp glance. Instead, all he got was a quirked eyebrow.

"Well, does it look like there's anyone else around here?"

He made a conscious effort to not look bashful. What a talent he had to surround himself with people who loved patronizing him, huh? But he had had enough time to learn that, if he took the bait and let himself be played for dumb, he wouldn't get anywhere. Seize the discussion.

His determined eyes didn’t move from the grey figure.

"I just got here. Don’t waste my time—"

"Yes, yes. You sure did take your time," said the stranger, moving to the red vines on the trellis. With a pair of small pruning shears they fished out of their pocket, they started cutting away at the flowers. "I, myself, thought you had keeled over and died somewhere along the way. I've been waiting for years, Jimmy! Surely you can hold on for a couple more minutes?"

"You— what?” His focus wavered ever so slightly. “How do you— you've been waiting for me? Like, for me specifically?"

"Who else would I be waiting for?" They chuckled. The sound ringed in Jimmy’s ears, bothering him the same way it always did when people laughed at him. In that regard, he only changed for worse.

Even though he felt like it, he didn't groan. He stared at Norman as if the cat could tell him what the deal with this unusual character was. If he knew how to, Norman would shrug.

Taking a deep breath, Jimmy forced calmness into his tone.

"How would I know?" He'd gotten better at not gritting his teeth at frustration, though he still sounded like he had swallowed a lemon. "You could be waiting for a hundred other people, maybe that’s your deal. I don't know you."

"Ah, but you certainly know of me! Otherwise, I wouldn't be the person you're looking for."

"Oh my g— Are you them or not?"

"Yes." They still didn't bother looking at him. Once satisfied with the number of black flowers they had gathered, they turned around with a swish of their robes and opened the door to their hut. "Well then. Come on inside."

Jimmy hesitated to follow. Norman, on his part, sniffed every inch of the chipped wooden door before sitting resolutely by the entryway. Jimmy took it as a warning. I’ll keep an eye out.

When he stepped inside, he concluded that this was, without a doubt, a wizard's house — a very disorganized one at that. The cabin was much larger on the inside, tall bookshelves extending far into a ceiling that seemed never-ending. Manuscripts littered the floor and desks alongside scrawled notes and old hardback books of all sizes. There were a multitude of coloured candles on nearly every surface, illuminating vials and more vials of the most peculiar ingredients. Jimmy consciously chose to believe that the blood in all those organised flasks on top of the nearest shelf belonged to some wild animal.

From the walls hanged more vines of strange plants, as well as all sorts of animal skins and various paintings and pictures — some pristine, others completely defaced. But they all seemed to depict a same theme, a same character: a very familiar deity with a golden trident and exaggerated grandeur. It was hard to ignore such clear obsession for someone Jimmy thought to be so incredibly unremarkable. The so called god of Stratos was the very reason he ended up like this to begin with. Religious fanatics were the last thing he needed right now.

Completely oblivious to their guest’s discomfort, the mage stood hunched over a counter, surrounded by multiple powders, herbs and and fluids in jars. Their hands worked on a mortar and pestle.

"You could have come sooner, you know?" They commented. "I don't know why you'd go through all that trouble with witches and pirates and whatever else you were doing when you could've just asked Scott for my address, I haven’t moved. But then again, you are the second pettiest individual I've ever seen. Leave it to you to go on some wild goose chase."

Jimmy stopped eyeing the room to stare at them. His brows quickly furrowed, suspicion immediately arisen.

"What does Scott have to do with this?" He asked. His hand itched to grab his sword again. "Actually, no: how do you know me in the first place? How did you know I was coming, huh?"

They hummed. "I’ve got eyes everywhere. You just happened to stumble upon one of them a long time ago."

The wizard stopped their motion to point at an open cabinet to their left. It was low enough that Jimmy could see its contents, and it made him raise an eyebrow: it was a human skull. Inside of one of the eye socket, there was a bright pink jewel; in the other, an unique blue stone caught his attention — it was intricate, as if it had been made to truly look like the iris of an eye.

Absentmindedly, Jimmy reached his wooden hand to touch the artefact, looking for something that could explain its purpose.

But when he blinked, he was on a hill. Vibrant flower patches stretched along the brick roads of a colourful kingdom, where glowing clouds of all colours painted the sky, constantly pumped by tall chimneys on cyan rooves.

Right in front of him, an excitable man dressed in orange spoke; Jimmy couldn't hear any of it. The man, too, glowed ever so slightly, and it made him want to squint at the vibrancy of the scene. The entire world was in deep silence, despite how much it looked like it was screaming at him.

Jimmy raised a hand to run it through his hair in exasperation, only for it to hit something. The cabinet. He blinked again, and back he was at the wizard’s hut as if he had never moved at all.

“What in the world—?”

“Funny, isn’t it?” The mage chuckled. Adding a few drops of a green liquid into the mortar, they went back to crushing. “What was he doing this time?”

“He was— I was just... in Chromia,” Jimmy murmured in disbelief, not knowing how to feel about it. Haunted, he stared at his strange host. “What was that?”

“The eye I gave Scott Smajor has many perks for him. But mostly, it has perks for me. It pays well to have such a well-connected informant. Don’t tell him about it, though, I’m sure he would hate it.” They didn’t sound apologetic at all.

“What do you mean you gave him an eye?!”

“Did he never tell how he got that magical yellow eye of his?”

“I assumed he was just born like that! You know, like, it’s a condition! Het- hetochro- heterochromia? Don’t look at me like that!”

“Oh, trust me, there is nothing hetero about that man.”

Jimmy continued to stare. For the sake of his own sanity, he tended to avoid thinking about any of the emperors he left behind. It had been so long since he last uttered the name of Scott Smajor, and the memories he held weren’t exactly the fondest. But a part of him couldn’t help but feel bad for the collector: this was, at the very least, a huge breach of privacy. Did he even want to know why this random guy in the middle of the woods needed unaware spies? Were they just a creep, or were they looking for something in particular? Did they assume Jimmy was coming over eventually, or had Scott been following him this whole time? Could they even make him do that? Could they control him?

The thought of being a mere puppet to someone made him sick in a horribly familiar way. He had half a mind to get back to Norman and leave.

But, he thought to himself, what if this is the only chance he has? In the years Jimmy had spent travelling, looking for a way to reverse this stupid toy curse, all he’s ever found was disappointment. Rejection. The frustrating loneliness that comes with learning people can’t be trusted; nobody cared enough to help, and those who did were never able to. When he was told there was a powerful wizard in a far away forest who could fix him, he took the lead with multiple doubts.

Now, he faced them all at their full force. What if they were to scam him? What if they were, in fact, nothing more than a massive creep? What if they killed him? Tortured him? Locked him away?

Just what price would he have to pay for his humanity?

He didn’t want to spend another hundred years running around looking for what he had lost. Jimmy was an imitation of life that couldn’t age or scar, but he was tired. So very tired of being a thing, tired of being a walking reminder of his own weakness in the eyes of others. He was tired of being so pathetic, no matter how hard he tried.

“You know what I’m here for, then,” he stated dryly. Resolute.

The mage hummed once more.

“Well, I have an educated guess.” They finally turned their head to look at the toy. The little glass eyes they met were unwavering. “You want your old body back. To be human again. Am I right?”

“You are. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes. But don’t you try anything silly!” His hand brushed against the hilt of his sword, pointedly displaying its netherite shine.

“Oh, don’t bother with threats. This is just as worthy an exchange to me, you know?”

“... And what do you want? In return, I mean.”

They didn’t respond immediately. With an amused smile on their face, they turned back to their workstation and, one by one, started tearing the black flowers from their garden into pieces. Into the mortar the shredded petals went, and after a minute of silent work, the wizard seemed satisfied with the solution they had made. There were another two or three minutes in which they put it through an old brewing stand before transferring it into one of the glass vials scattered around their desk.

With that, they handed him the concoction. Although it may have seemed like there wasn’t much of it in there to begin with, to Jimmy it felt more like a bucket full of bricks. He blinked, as if to ask ‘what the hell am I supposed to do with this?’

“Drink it, boy, drink it!”

Their eagerness wasn’t lost on him. The small man stared down at the inky substance, which smelled no more pleasant than spoiled milk.

“I thought you said those flowers were poisonous,” he pointed, stalling.

“Hm, yes, I do pride myself on growing the finest wither flower hybrids.” They waved Jimmy off as if he had said something particularly flattering. “But alchemy works in fascinating ways, so really, that mixture should be fine. Well, at least I haven’t killed anyone with it yet.”

The toy looked back at the front door, where his cat sat like a gargoyle. Upon noticing the his gaze, Norman got up with all that feline grace of his and approached to sniff the potion. His reaction wasn’t encouraging — he let out one of those tiny cat sneezes that often made Jimmy laugh, — but if he didn’t make a fuss about it, it was probably fine. Either that or the cat didn’t know a thing about magical ingredients either.

“And... what does this do, exactly?” Jimmy asked, still grimacing.

“In theory,” the wizard said from an unknown corner of the room, where they were now heaving an old-looking box from another one of their cabinets. He definitely hadn’t seen them move, “it allows me to freely tinker with you. Think of it as a surgery of sorts,” they quickly added at Jimmy’s horrified expression.

“You do realise this is the most suspicious situation ever?”

“Yes.”

“And you expect me to just drink this, then?”

“Well, if you don’t want it, you can leave.” They shook their head at him while they examined the instruments inside of the box. “I do have other things to do.”

“No, no, just... how can I know you’re not trying to trick me? You know, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Jimmy, if I wanted to do you any harm, I would have done it already.” Their sigh came from somewhere behind him. What were they, a transporter? “Do you think I let just anyone find me here? No. Now, you might have never heard it before, but you are quite special. And I personally would hate to let your potential go to waste because of some tasteless joke.”

That was it. Not pity, not scorn, not condescendence. It was as simple as ‘you deserve better.’ He did deserve better. So he did it.

The potion was thick and oily, and it burned on the way down. It was a mix of spicy and sweet that frankly made him want to throw it right back up. But the vial was small enough that he managed to down the whole thing in a few gulps.

He couldn’t remember anything after that.

---

When Jimmy woke up, the first thought that crossed his mind was that he had to have been buried alive. There was a suffocating weight on top of him, while his body sank heavily on an unstable surface. His chest was impossibly tight, and some horrible, almost painful texture seemed to envelop every inch of his skin.

His skin.

He bolted upright.

The room Jimmy found himself in felt claustrophobic; not because it was particularly small, but because he fit inside of it. It made him dizzy, like it was too foreign to process. But it wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as what he was feeling.

What was he feeling? It was hard to name it all.

A breeze made its way inside through the ajar window, and he could feel it on his face and shoulders like cold knives. The hairs along his arms stood up, goosebumps seeming to make their way into his very soul. There were no more ball joints, no more creaking, no wood grain — instead, he could faintly she the lines of his veins under pale skin.

He kicked away the covers he was tangled up in. The itchy, heavy thing had so many little loose threads, it felt like bugs crawling up his legs. The mattress was no better: his weight made it shift under him; he was almost sure it would swallow him up.

Jimmy touched his face to find that he could feel his own stubble, the lack of hinges on his jaw — it felt so loose, so free that he feared it would somehow fall from his skull. Pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes felt weird. His cracked lips, glued together from sleep, also felt weird. His hair— gods, it was so smooth! The knots were less like fraying yarn and more like he just hadn’t washed it in a few days.

His chest was wrapped in the most uncomfortable bandages possible. They were tight, rough, and Jimmy could feel every last fibre digging into his sides. But he could still run his fingers over his own ribs, touch his own stomach — it was squishy, not like cotton filling, but like flesh.

From the tip of his toes to the top of his head, he was flesh and bones and skin. And gods, he could feel it all — there was so much more surface to feel than he remembered! If he didn’t know any better, he would say he was about to combust.

He laughed in disbelief, only to immediately hug himself when it startled him; since when did his voice vibrate so much? Why was he so hot, yet so cold? So heavy? Why did his skin feel like it was melting underneath his fingers? Why was the sun so blinding, the room so small, the shifting of the bed so loud? Why was his chest even tied up, it didn’t have enough space to breathe—

“Woah there, let’s not do that.” A formless voice ringed in his ears.

Rough hands took hold of his wrist, and Jimmy pulled away like they burned him. His nails had dug bloody marks into his arms.

“Come on, deep breaths,” the owner of said hands told him. They sounded oddly close by, but Jimmy couldn’t bring himself to look at anything other than his own knees. “Yes, like that. Everything is fine, you just gotta readjust to it. Take your time”

He took in air that didn’t quite seem to fill his lungs. Without making a sound, someone closed the window and drew the curtains, cutting that cold breeze and bright light. It became easier to focus on the sting of the bruises he had produced, clinging to himself to confirm they were there.

A new weight dipped the mattress beside him and a mass of greys, browns and whites invaded his vision. Norman stared at him, sniffed at his hand, but was kind enough to not jump on him. If anything, the cat seemed suspicious.

Jimmy cleared his throat; it gave him a headache. But he was smiling fondly. Norman was so... tiny, like a kitten. Had he always been that small? His owner at times thought of him as an impromptu horse, tall and strong. He was a fluffy little thing.

“Hey, big man,” Jimmy murmured hoarsely, surprising himself with his own tone. Raising a hesitant hand, he caressed the cat’s waiting head and promptly melted.

He had forgotten what it was like to run his hand through Norman’s soft fur, to bend down and place a kiss on his little forehead. He’d forgotten the warm weight of the animal on his lap — or his own weight, for that matter. To make the floorboards creak under him, to leave a dip in the bed, to cast a long shadow on a wall. Oh, it was horrendous, too much at once — yet it was every fantastic bit like he had longed for.

“I’m not a toy.” He could shout it from the rooftops. Instead, he let out a wet and true laughter into Norman’s fur. He didn’t even realise he had started crying. “I’m not a toy.”

The wizard observed ominously. They left him a glass of water before exiting the room without a word.

For the first time in years, his own blood underneath his nails and sweat running down his back, Jimmy was alive.

#cw: sensory overload #To be continued #I had to split this one in two parts oops #anyways Jimmy gets to NOT be a toy. As an end-of-season treat #Because the end doesn't mean I'll stop compulsively thinking about them lol #But yeah here's that random wizard from Scott's backstory with their random cursed skull. I claimed them they're mine now #so much potential with Jimmy going *back* to being human that I don't see often #Here's to ruining it for him in the next part #(this is an invite to talk to me about him please-)#Empires SMP #Empires season 2 #empiresblr #Solidarity Gaming #Red Light Bandit AU #Don't Mind Me I'm Writing My Blorbos

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thefirstknife · 1 year

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Peeked at twitter again unfortunately, and apparently people are mad that this week's seasonal story update was shorter? Literally it's a season that launches with the expansion. Every single one of those was smaller and lighter on the content.

Personally, I am enjoying that this season's storyline isn't too demanding. Clearly I love when we get a lot of lore, and we still get the usual initial dialogues, a lot of new weekly mission dialogues, ending dialogues and radio message + 2 lore pages. I have so much shit to do with Lightfall AND the exotic mission launched today which added so much new stuff to do so I was super glad that I was done with the weekly story in like 20 minutes.

Obviously the story was shorter due to the exotic mission launching alongside it. This seasonal story is also shorter in general, with only 6 weeks (6 lore pages to earn) which I am honestly relieved about because there's so much Lightfall content that I'm barely catching up with and there's the pinnacle grind that's kicking my ass because I don't want to die in every activity because an enemy looked at me. I get so overwhelmed with content when an expansion launches and there's also seasonal content. Sometimes I wish we got no season with the expansion.

So many people want things to slow down a little because we simply do not have time to grind 24/7, but then there's strange people who want a weekly update to require 6 hours of investement I guess. And of course everything in those 6 hours has to be brand new content, never before seen. If I see a single blade of grass that has been used as texture before, then Bungie is lazy. Obviously. /s

The only legitimate problem with this setup is for people who didn't get the expansion and only have the season. Their season is then not the exact same quantity as others. But it's never those people that make these complaints.

#destiny 2 #destiny 2 spoilers #season of defiance #season of defiance spoilers #i'm just. there was an entire secret exotic mission??? that has multiple parts and extra bits to do??#and it will continue for a few weeks as well??#i got my weekly update done and was relieved i can go back to grinding stuff i still need to do #then the exotic mission was found. by the time i finished it already took several hours of my time #people are begging on their knees for less grind but then some players are just like. 'no. release more content every week.'#actually no. release less content.#and the best part is. they didn't even skip out on any lore. we still got everything we usually get in an update #and we're getting two lore books this season #i guess it wasn't anything groundbreaking so clearly it's bad #'we just got some conversations between characters!' yes.#i think a lot of people constantly complaining about this have never like. watched a tv show without binging it #GENUINELY feels that way #idk do people expect something bombastic must happen every week? when was that ever a thing?#'if the plot doesn't move forward spectacularly then it's a bad story.' it's time to calm down #it's just more FOMO. I'm glad this was short and easy on my brain #also it'll be less of a pain to replay it with other characters

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youngpettyqueen · 1 year

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we can go over a million times why watching the first 3 seasons of mash is a necessity to truly appreciate the show and I'll personally advocate for it because I think seeing the tonal shift happen between s3 and s4 is truly important, not to mention Trapper and Henry and understanding why they have such a massive impact even into the final seasons, but also I think the first 3 seasons should be necessary just for the comedy of the continuity errors

#mash #on a rewatch I caught #Hawkeye's mom being alive #Hawkeye having a sister #Hawkeye being from like 3 different states #Henry's wife having 2 different names #Henry's first son being born in the show and then suddenly being like 5 #Radar being engaged #Radar having an inconsistent amount of siblings #Mulcahy's full name starting out as John Patrick Mulcahy #Margaret's dad being dead #and those are just off the top of my head #I like to joke they traded Hawkeye's mom for Margaret's dad #equivalent exchange #I say this so seriously the continuity errors bring me great joy #and of course they continue on through the rest of the show #like Potter's changing amount of kids and grandkids #Charles' nephew that doesn't make sense #not to mention how Potter supposedly joins the 4077 in 1952 but in the New Year's episode he's there in 1950 #but the ones in the first 3 seasons are just so fucking funny cause theyre CONSTANT #Margaret telling Henry he reminds her of her dead dad and I was like GIRL WE MEETYOUR DAD??

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adhd-mode-activate · 2 years

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THAT’S THE END???

#moon knight #okay that was so good though #AHHHHHH JAKE #I'd like to note that I initially wrote this before realizing there was an end credits scene but it holds true after the end credits #moon knight spoilers #moon knight finale #moon knight episode 6 #I am SHOOK over the skill of these actors #*hopes fervently for a season 2*#preferably one that continues like THIS and doesn't try to rope Moon Knight into the Avengers somehow #because it was refreshing how separate he was from everyone else

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margaritalaux-antille · 2 years

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ciri's season 3 wig... i want to burn it.

#kit speaks #it looks like they literally kept the exact same one from season 2 but it was showing signs of wear so they put it in 3 braids #and hoped that would cover the bald spots #and why does she STILL have those shitty bits hanging loose at the front #the hair is too long to pull that off!!!!#WHY AREN'T THEY JUST USING FREYA'S REAL HAIR IT CIRI DOESN'T NEED TO HAVE SUPER LONG HAIR #seriously the reason why the twn fandom fucking died after season 2 is that you can't even make character edits of that stupid season #because everyone looks fucking trash and it looks like season 3 has continued that trend #the outfits and hair just keep getting uglier and uglier and i can't imagine the plot is going to get better #given that they fucked up adapting the SIMPLEST OF THE BOOKS #whatever!#WHATEVER!!!

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faithfulcat111 · 10 months

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We are making Susan Mayfield and Becky Ives complex characters in this house.

#i wasnt intending this but the characters have decided they are more involved than i intended #season two of this au is going to be so different #like i think i accidentally wrote out several different plot beats #whoopsie daisy #also jonathan just continues to adopt new little siblings #i had thoughts on ships but i think I'm just gonna cut literally all the romance subplots from season 2 except the one I'm creating #it just doesn't make sense anymore #faith talks

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uglyducklingofthe2000s · 2 months

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hi, i rly rly love your works, can i pls request non sexual dominance or casual dominance w lando cus i think it will fit him nicely, you can do whatever you want with it, have a good day! 🤍🤍

What's Mine is All Mine - LN

Forewarning I'm probs not going to be uploading anything after this till Friday and even then I will in fact be binge-watching DTS because I need to know what drama they've made up for season 6.

Also I hope I did this right? Not really 100% certain on what people think of when it comes to casual dominance but I hope this is sort of the right idea.

No part 2 requests please

In truth Lando knows exactly how he can be when it comes to y/n. It doesn't even have to be provoked, y/n brings out some more primitive need to protect her against even a gust of wind.

Y/n thinks nothing of it when she feels Lando's hand slide down her side to the hem of her dress giving it a gentle tug.

Her dress today has turned out to somehow get shorter and shorter as she moved around. It's not as if it was intentional that she was coming close to flashing the paddock. She'd thought the dress would be fine, it's a nice summer tea dress but it's proving to be more of an annoyance in the scale of things.

At some point, Lando must lose interest in continuing to tug at her dress with only short term success of his goal to keep her covered, so while in the garage as he standing leaning against the counter talking to some of the team. His large hand is pressed to her tummy holding her against himself and prevent enough movement that it will shift her dress.

She's focused on her phone having only the most basic of knowledge when it came to the technical and mechanical side to the sport. And by that she means she knows there is a technical and mechanical side that exists, unlike in other sports.

"Baby." Lando mumbles catching her attention from her screen, his free hand coming up to move her hair to one side allowing him access to gently kiss her neck before she turns to look at him. "You're quiet."

"I don't want to interrupt." Y/n mumbles earning a smile before she feels his hand tug her hem again, seemingly a new habit he has though there's a chance it had rid up again.

"You-could never interrupt." Lando states pausing his sentence to hook a finger under her chin then kissing her.

Though she doesn't notice the heavy set gaze he's shooting to the couple mechanics who he didn't fail to notice were admiring his girlfriend more than he likes to see. Thought the bar is low. He doesn't like anyone looking at y/n, if he could make a rule for no one to look at her than he would but that might be a bit too loud and obvious.

Lando rarely likes to walk without y/n's hand in his own, she's never really thought to question it. Walking through the paddock can be a hike at the speed that he moves at and often she's nudged and pushed out the way in order for people to get to him instead.

Sometimes he needs both hands in use and there's only so many alternatives that he approves of.

Today he did something new that he hadn't tried and she was initially confused. Her hand actually latched quite tightly to his, she didn't really want to let go. But as they walked up to some fans he shook his hand to loosen her grip before guiding it to his jean belt loop and hooking two of her fingers through it.

"Don't let go." Lando instructs quietly into her ear before kissing her temple while she feels blood practically sizzling in her veins with how hot she is feeling.

"Ok." She nods earning a smile as he tucks some of her hair behind her ear allowing some air to cooler down down her flushed face but really she's trying to hide a smile that is not fighting to get on her lips.

He turns beginning to sign things for all the awaiting fans, some of which don't hide that they noticed y/n standing with Lando, latched onto him. Some of them probably think she's needy, which in a lot of ways she is, but this is entirely Lando.

Throughout the 10 minutes he spends trying to sign as many things as he can, he still continues to reach down and brush his hand against her own to make sure she is holding on.

Then when he decides he's signed all he can sign. He slides his hand into her own again and begins to walk them into the paddock.

Lando always likes playing with y/n's hair, at the moment he's having a bit of a meeting with Quadrant since they're back in the UK and there's some big projects coming up and he just needed to talk to everyone about them.

Y/n is just sort of there on his demand.

He's sitting up on the sofa while she sits between his legs on the floor, his large handles gathering her hair and twisting it a bit before he starts braiding it. Something she had to teach him so he would so getting her hair knotted.

It's definitely not an anxiety thing like some people have assumed, he just likes her to be always aware that even if he's not necessarily watching her. He's aware of her there.

She is listening, just because she likes to know what's going on and what her boyfriend is doing with his company which started as a passion project and with the help of the others in Quadrant, has grown into much more than that.

At some point her drops her hair, his hand handing next to her head, fingertips gently brushing her jaw gently as he talks before someone else starts speaking up and she feels his hand move down to her neck, gently holding it and tipping her head back till he can kiss her.

"Come up and sit with me, please." He instructs, not really making a question of it but she nods taking his hand to help pull her up before sitting beside him and smiling a little as he pulls her legs over on of his over, his hand resting just above her thigh while she somewhat hugs his arm tightly, resting her head on his bicep.

Y/n and Lando going out with Max and Kelly in Monaco isn't as frequent as people might think but when it happens, they certainly don't broadcast it.

Another matter is that not many people know y/n like the way they know Max or Lando. She's not as easy to recognise but that doesn't mean she doesn't attract attention.

In the brief moments that Lando disappears, y/n gets up to get drinks. Never failing to get a barman's attention when she raises her hand for making her order.

"Hello, beautiful." A man greets moving up beside her once she has ordered the drinks.

"Umm-"

There really is moments that Lando's sixth sense seems to kick in or he's just so lucky and perfectly timed that he moves up behind her, his arms caging her in as he does so much as acknowledge the man who her gaze is locked on but she feels Lando's lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"Don't give him the time of day, baby." Lando instructs making her look back to find the drinks are almost finished being served up.

Max has an open tab that their drinks are all going so there's no need to pay.

She doesn't see Lando shoot a look at the man who heeds the warning of the F1 driver before he takes his drink and seems to disappear from the bar entirely while Lando asks for a tray to carry the drinks then managing to balance it as he manages to guide her while keep her in front and constantly within his eye sight as they get back to the main group.

He places the drinks down, picking up his and y/n's before they sit down and he hands her drink to her.

"Are you ok?" Lando asks since she hadn't uttered a word since he appeared.

"Yeah, I'm good." Y/n nods with a smile then kissing him which seems to soften the slightly annoyed exterior he'd had tensed up with. "Are you ok?"

"Always baby." Lando smiles since really he knows there's absolutely no threat of another man charming or seducing y/n. She's got eyes for him only and it's obvious to everyone who sees them together.

He's obsessed with her and she's enamoured with him.

Taglist: @namgification

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itsclydebitches · 9 months

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Just finished Good Omens 2 and I'm honestly boggling at the Aziraphale hate because yes, his decision led to the angsty cliffhanger, but it makes SO much sense for his character. Not just in a "Religious brainwashing and sunk-cost fallacy" kinda way but also a "Aziraphale has no reason to believe this isn't the perfect solution" way. That scene among the nebula is crucial because it establishes that Crowley loved being an angel—reveled in his ability to create and allow his creations to grow kinda like plants—and the only problem was that someone else was calling the shots, someone who wouldn't listen to his criticism. Aziraphale has also spent 6,000+ years watching Crowley do good, all the while forced to deny the fact that he's "nice" lest embracing his original nature get him into trouble with hell. Now, Metatron comes along with an offer that fixes everything in one fell swoop. Crowley can be an angel again, be nice without censure, his ideas and criticisms will hold weight because he'll be answering to Aziraphale, and they'll be together.

It strikes me that Aziraphale isn't there when Crowley sees Gabriel's trial, ergo he likewise doesn't see the (non)acknowledgement that there's an institutional problem up in Heaven. There just happen to have been two archangels who called it quits. Same when Gabriel blurts that phrase out to Crowley. Aziraphale has always been more blind to the ways in which Heaven is "toxic" (for very understandable reasons) and this season he's continually sheltered from new evidence of its structural problems. The plot just preaches to the choir: Crowley. He likewise wouldn't see the conflict Gabriel and Beelzebub have caused as evidence of an underlying problem because that's a problem he and Crowley will no longer share. Why would they be worried about Heaven still being unable to accept partnerships between angels and demons when Crowley will no longer be a demon? And that's something he presumably wants based on Aziraphale's memories of him and the ongoing admission that he's lonely.

The way I see it, they got what they thought they wanted at the start of Season 2. Heaven and Hell are keeping an eye on them, but functionally they're left alone. Crowley can spend all the time he wants with Aziraphale and nothing comes of that except that they're both continually named traitors and the higher-ups grumble about it. If Gabriel had never shown up, things should have been perfect based on Crowley's "Let's just run away and have each other's company" standards. Better, even, considering that they get to be together on their beloved Earth, rather than being bored out in Alpha Centauri without any sushi, plants, books, or Bentleys. And yet... Crowley doesn't strike me as particularly happy. Because, you know, based on that kiss he wants to be with Aziraphale, not just literally be with him, but the point of this post is that his "Let's run away and be an 'us'" falls totally flat when he doesn't explain that specific desire to Aziraphale; the desire to change what an 'us' means. From Aziraphale's perspective they're already an 'us.' That was the entire point of "our side" in Season 1 and now they can continue to be 'us' up in Heaven. Plus, Aziraphale likely sees this as a sacrifice on his part. He will give up his bookshop, his Earthly indulgences, take on the responsibilities of leadership (which I don't think he actually wants for a variety of reasons), and spend the rest of eternity in a place where he's felt so small because he thinks that's what Crowley wants. Crowley was happy as an angel. Crowley wanted them to be together without risk of permanent discorporation. They were able to achieve that after not-Armageddon and he still wasn't happy... so surely those two things together will do the trick. Crowley never actually articulates how he wants their relationship to change and the kiss comes much too late, when he's already rejected what Aziraphale must see as a perfect, selfless solution he's secured for them. Even if Crowley wasn't always moving too fast for him, an overture of romance isn't going to go well after that.

Is this crushing and angsty and devastating as a hiatus? Damn straight, my heart it breaking. But it's a good setup. More importantly, it makes perfect sense for their characters, particularly when they're still talking past one another. Aziraphale is someone who has always moved more slowly as a matter of course, as an angel he has remained immersed in the rhetoric of Heaven, his main avenue of breaking free of that (Crowley) has a huge communication problem (to say nothing of his own denial. He only made headway with the help of Nina and Maggie, seconds before Aziraphale shows up), and Metatron (in a no doubt incredibly manipulative manner) has just offered Aziraphale a job that presumably makes him happy AND Crowley happy AND allows him to maintain the moral this-is-how-the-universe-works perspective he's had since he was literally created. Of course he's going to say yes to all that!! And sure, there are problems in Heaven, Aziraphale isn't completely blind, but he can fix them now that he's in charge. How? Well... he'll figure that out later! Kinda like how he's been making plans on the fly this entire season. That seems logical from his perspective, right? It's not like he's gotten a crash-course in the concept of the master's tools never being able to dismantle the master's house...

#Good Omens #Good Omens spoilers #Good Omens 2 #Good Omens 2 spoilers #GO2 #GO2 spoilers #mymetas #this is so rough and I'll probably write better metas later #but I just have FEELINGS RIGHT NOW OKAY

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puranami · 5 months

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✿ Omelette ✿

A/N: A little fic based on one of the prompts I have~

Summary: Sanji finds you cooking an omelette in your underwear at an ungodly hour.

Content: Warning - my really bad attempt at writing anything outside of lil paragraph points (blz help, I have no idea what I'm doing)

Despite the scenario - it's all SFW and fluffy like dem eggs! A light dusting of pining, G/N reader. ✿

(Part 2) - (Part 3)

You had tried to sleep and ignore the rumbling in your stomach, but the harder you tried, the more you felt it, and you had finally reached your limit. If you were to be at all functional tomorrow, you needed to eat something. Only then could you try to sleep again.

Exhausted, you drag yourself from the safety and warmth of your blankets, slowly ambling towards the ship's kitchen, single-minded in your endeavour. All that mattered was appeasing your stomach, leaving you completely unaware of the sudden cold that embraced you once you had left the confines of your quarters.

Flicking on the kitchen light, you quickly gathered everything you needed, deciding that the best thing to make would be an omelette. It's an easy dish, filling, and doesn't take long to make. In other words; it was perfect!

You make quick work of prepping the eggs, seasoning to taste, even considering throwing a little cheese in there before deciding against it. It's not like you believed the myth of cheese giving people nightmares if eaten before bed, but you were so desperate to be able to sleep afterwards that you didn't want to risk it. Stranger things have happened on this ship.

The pan hisses as you pour in the eggs, sounding much louder in the empty kitchen, only amplified by the late hour.

"Don't you sass me," you grumble, "The middle of the night is a perfectly acceptable time for an omelette!"

Unbeknownst to you, you weren't the only one awake on the ship, and your late night excursion had attracted attention, clearly not having noticed any of the noise you were making.

"I thought Luffy had snuck in on a midnight raid with all the clattering," a groggy voice behind you laughs, but you are too tired and focused on cooking to even register that you had been joined by anyone. Sanji leans against the table opposite the kitchen island, fidgeting with the hem of his nightshirt, waiting for an answer that never came.

Surely you heard him, right?

"Is everything alright, darling?"

Nothing.

Terms of endearment usually prompted some kind of response, be it a dismissive laugh or an equally fond term of your own, clearly thinking they meant nothing in particular. He'd accepted pretty quickly that they wouldn't be the way to win you over, but it certainly didn't stop him using them, at least on you. The same couldn't be said about everyone else, as he was no longer vying for the affection of anyone but yourself. Sanji wondered if you'd ever noticed that.

A clumsy flip of the omelette brought him back into the moment, honestly surprised that you hadn't dropped it on the floor.

He moved his way to your side of the kitchen, round the central island toward the stovetop.

"Why are you cooking at this hhhh-" he wheezed at the end, only now seeing that you weren't in the pyjama bottoms he'd assumed you'd be wearing, but in your underwear.

He clasped one of his hands over his mouth, the other grabbing the island for support as he felt his legs begin to fail him. Keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, he blurts out, "W-WHERE ARE YOUR PANTS?" as his face went fully crimson.

That finally gets your attention, but you are slow on the uptake, mind completely glazing over the fact that you had at some point gained an observer. Finally, furrowing your brows a little, you murmured a soft "What?" You knew a question was asked, but nothing else beyond that.

"Your pants, darling!" he gestures wildly, continuing to look down, knowing if that he caught sight of your bare legs again, he would lose his mind.

You stand there, pan hovering in the air away from the stove in one hand, a plate in the other, looking absolutely lost; you had completed your mission of acquiring omelette, and so your brain had decided it was no longer needed. Looking down, you see your legs and feet, wiggling your toes a little, then you look back up at the mess of a man in front of you, things finally starting to fall into place in your overtired mind.

"Oh, Sanji, what are you doing here," you ask, sweet as anything, completely ignorant to the battle he was waging internally. Once you plate your omelette, you place it on the island before putting the pan back on the stove to cool and grabbing a fork to tuck in, oblivious to Sanji frantically unbuttoning his night shirt beside you. He refuses to look directly at you until he has covered you with it, cheeks noticeably burning with how flustered he is.

"Darling, you can't do that to me," he says, almost breathless, "I am a weak, weak man; I can't handle seeing you so bare!" He manipulates your arms into the sleeves of his nightshirt, ignoring your protests when he briefly pulls the fork out of your hand in the process, before buttoning you up, doing his best to preserve your dignity.

As you feel the warm sustenance finally begin to settle in your empty stomach, you feel your brain booting back up, at least a little bit.

"Ah, shit I forgot to put on pants..." You giggle, wondering why everything was always funnier when you were tired. Taking another bite of food, you look down at your legs once again, starting to fully comprehend the situation you found yourself in. "I guess I was just too hungry." He can't help but sigh at how nonchalant you are.

Looking back up, your brain once again decides to abandon you, not from how tired you are this time, but from your eyes being met with his bare chest and abs, causing your own face to turn a charming shade of red. Sanji was always so neatly dressed, so he most you ever saw was his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves to work. It made sense that he was in good shape given his fighting ability, but it never really hit you until you saw his body tonight. There wasn't really any way to get accustomed to it, not like there was with someone like Zoro, who had his shirt off at least half the times you saw him, flashing his man tits whenever and wherever he damn well pleased.

Sanji's eyes never left you during this quiet minute, one that felt like hours, and he couldn't help but feel a hint of pride when he watched your eyes dance over his shirtless body, clearly flustered, bringing a confident smile to his face.

"Everything alright down there, sweetheart," he laughed softly.

You were clearly lost in your thoughts, it finally clicking why he was shirtless; he'd put his shirt on you. You brought a long sleeve up to your face as you dragged your eyes away, looking awkwardly to the side to your recently emptied plate. The shirt smelt like him, only without the lingering scent of cigarette smoke. It was sweet and musky. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but you felt a wave of feelings crash into you. Feelings you knew were there but had simply brushed aside, assuming they were just a result of his natural charm more than anything. But, you couldn't so easily disregard them now.

Sanji followed your gaze. "Ah, don't you worry about that, my dear," he says, grabbing the plate and bringing it to the sink, leaving you standing in a bit of a daze. "I'll take care of things here, so you go and get yourself back to bed, alright?"

"Oh, no!" You couldn't help how loud that ended up being, surprising the both of you. "You shouldn't have to clean up my mess," you say with a more regulated volume. If there's one way to get you back in the present, it's offering to do something you feel solely responsible for.

"In all fairness, darling, you shouldn't have been cooking in my kitchen in a state of undress," his cheeks started to go pink at the recent memory. He clears his throat before continuing, "Do you know how dangerous that is?" Ah, the professional chef just can't help himself when it comes to kitchen rules.

You pout slightly as you lean back against the centre island.

"Sorry, Sanji. I wasn't really with it. Too tired, too hungry..."

He makes quick work of the dirty items you had used, all while prattling on about safety and other things you probably should have listened to. Drying his hands, he makes his way back to you. It is evident you hadn't really been paying attention.

"At least promise me this," you look up at his warm, smiling face, "if you ever find yourself in this predicament again, please come and get me."

He brushes back some loose strands of hair, tucking them neatly behind your ear.

"You know that I'm always happy to cook for you, right? Whatever you want, whenever you want it."

Returning a gentle smile of your own, you nod.

"I promise."

With that, Sanji leads you out of the kitchen, plunging it back into darkness as he flicks the light off.

You reach his quarters first since he's closest to the kitchen. He pauses outside his door, hesitating for a moment. There are so many things he wanted to say to you, yet he couldn't bring himself to utter a single word.

Oblivious, you carry on toward your own room, turning back to him to wish him a good night, nearly falling over your own feet in the process, to which he smiles, letting out a soft chuckle.

"Bonne nuit, ma chère."

Guys, gals, and non-binary pals; I tried my best! This is my very first full fic ever, so if the grammar, wording, presentation, literally anything is bad; it's bc I am completely winging it! ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

#one piece imagine #one piece x reader #one piece x you #sanji x reader #sanji x you

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sundrop-writes · 2 months

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Officially announcing my new series: Careful.

A limited multi-chapter series with Spencer Reid and Fem Reader, featuring angst, smut, and the trope of exes to lovers where Spencer finds out that he is a father four years after you have given birth to his child.

'When you and Spencer broke up, he tried to forget about you. He pushed all of those feelings for you down - until he sees your name on a list of potential victims being hunted by a man who kills single mothers.'

The series will be approximately 40k long in total (spread across six chapters) and will be posted every Friday, starting on March 8th, 2024, and continuing until ending on April 12th, 2024.

THE FIRST CHAPTER IS NOW POSTED!!!

(I am making a posting schedule, and I am gonna try really, really hard to stick to it this time guys.)

The series is already finished in my drafts - it just needs to be edited before posting. However, comments and encouragement are highly appreciated and welcomed throughout this process. The fic will not have a taglist (taglists are not something I do) - if you enjoy the concept or the preview below and you want to know when future chapters are coming out, then you will simply have to follow me here and turn on notifications for this blog, or you can find me on AO3 and subscribe to me there to get emails when this series and it's future chapters are posted.

Below is a short preview of the fic - so if you want to get a better sense of what the fic is about, click through and read it, and hopefully, you will enjoy.

Preview Word Count: 1,800

Warnings: typical Criminal Minds episode warnings; mentions of murder/killing; the reader character is being targeted by a killer and doesn't know it yet; the reader has a young child (a four year old son); the reader is a cis woman who uses she/her pronouns and a has a vagina; emotional angst between Spencer and the reader; the reader and Spencer had a romantic relationship around season 1/season 2 and this is meant to take place around season 6(ish) but you can picture any later version of Spencer you want; the reason that the reader and Spencer broke up is purposefully vague here but it will be fully revealed in the full story; the reader purposefully kept the pregnancy/Spencer's child away from him; Spencer didn't know he had a child out there in the world; there is some smut in this - unprotected penetration (a flashback to how the baby got here); possibly something that could be labelled as a breeding kink; making love/intense passionate sex; I believe that's in for this short part.

...

The team found themselves buried in paper, looking through the preschool applications for anyone who fit the UnSub’s victimology - praying that they would be able to pick out the next victim and get to her before the UnSub did.

“We’re never gonna get through these fast enough, are we?” Prentiss sighed, continuing to sift through the papers.

“We just have to go as fast as we can, and hope the UnSub sticks to his schedule.” Morgan replied. “He has to spend time stalking them, learning their routine. Even if he has chosen his victim by now, he won’t break into the home until he’s fully confident that he won’t be disrupted.”

“And the stalking helps build up the fantasy.” Reid added on. “He romanticizes them from afar, sends them gifts. It adds to his delusions of grandeur and forbidden love. The idea that he’s swooping in to become the perfect father figure for these ‘broken’ families.”

“Plus, most of these applications are from two-parent households.” JJ pointed out. “We can throw out anything with a second applicant on the form, because he’s only targeting single mothers.”

The conversation was easily drowned out for Spencer when he saw it.

It should have been just another page among the sea in his hands, but when he saw those words on the page - that name - it was like a punch to the gut that brought back a flood of memories he thought that he had locked away forever.

It was you.

What the hell were you doing applying for preschools?

Spencer rushed to tear this paper out from the others in the stack in order to read it more carefully.

You had a son.

…

When you answered the knock on your door, you were entirely lost for words, your mouth going numb from shock when you saw him.

The last thing you were expecting was to find Spencer Reid on your doorstep.

Your heart raced inside your chest, your body so overwhelmed so quickly that you couldn’t even decide on an emotion.

Happiness. Joy. Lust. Longing. Sadness. Relief.

Shock.

You lingered on shock for a while as you stared at him, your eyes locked on the sight of him - wondering what the hell he was doing standing on your porch. How did he know where you lived? Why was he here?

“Y/N,”

He said your name in that honey-sweet way, and it brought you rocketing back to that awful night all those years ago. Your stomach dropped, and you felt like you were standing in that apartment all over again, tears in your eyes as you faced down the crashing reality that the best relationship you ever had in your life was over.

This brought on a whole new wave of confusing emotions.

Anger. Rage. Sadness. Bitterness. Regret.

Like your brain was a spin-wheel, it whirled around for a few hectic moments, and then - you landed somewhere between anger and pure rage.

And that was when you finally spoke.

“Spencer Reid.” You hissed out his name like it was pure venom - immediately, Spencer’s features fell from looking at you with nostalgic fondness, and dropped out to fear. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Spencer opened his mouth, seemingly to answer this question, and the rage pumped harder in your system. You found that you didn’t want to hear whatever it was that he had to say.

You stepped through the door, easily stepping into his personal space as you came onto the porch, and you gave him a hard shove in the middle of his chest as you spoke your next words - much louder than you intended.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

You screeched, your emotions carrying your actions before any sense of logic or common decency could kick in. It was emotion that you had locked away four years ago - and apparently, it had been aging like wine, only becoming more potent with time.

“You think that you can just magically show up in my life again after I specifically told you not to contact me?” You added on with a howl. “Do you think that order has a fucking expiration date on it?”

You gave him another hard shove - perhaps expecting to prompt an answer out of him, or wanting to shove him off the porch entirely and get him out of your life once again. Which of those it was, you weren’t even sure.

“You better have a good fucking reason for showing up here!” You screeched, your voice becoming so loud that it wore out your throat.

“Look, Y/N, I-” He stuttered out.

“Don’t say my name.” You hissed, cutting him off. “Don’t say my name like we’re friends.”

You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest, and Spencer shoved his hands into his pockets, now finding himself utterly speechless.

He definitely was not expecting this kind of reception.

…

You hadn’t taken the news that you were potentially being hunted by a serial killer very well.

Although, strangely enough, that wasn’t even close to being the hot topic when JJ and Spencer got back in the car, watching you pull out of your driveway to attend to something you said was entirely urgent.

“What the hell happened between the two of you?” JJ asked, the question finally unleashing from her lips.

“It’s complicated.” Spencer huffed out in reply.

…

Eventually - you did sit down and talk things out with Spencer, calmly.

He had a lot of questions, and you tried your best to answer them.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Spencer asked when it came to the forefront of his mind.

“Sure,” You sighed. “I think we have a few more minutes before you have to go.”

“When did you find out that you were pregnant?” He asked. “Was it - was it before? Or after?”

“After.” You told him. “It - it was about two weeks after. When I took one of those at home tests. And I had already made up my mind that I never wanted to see you again. So just - then and there, I decided that I was gonna raise the kid alone.”

“So - so do you know when-?” Spencer began, and you cut him off.

You already knew what he was going to say.

‘Do you know when he was conceived?’

“No.” You rushed to say.

But it was a lie. You knew.

You felt like you couldn’t tell him the truth about this. If there was one thing you couldn’t afford to do right now, with Spencer Reid sitting at your kitchen table, staring at you with his big, inquisitive, glossy eyes, licking his lips, with his firm jaw set tight in contemplation - you couldn’t afford to go reminiscing with him about the night your son had been conceived.

You had spent a lot of time during your pregnancy thinking. Doing the math. Trying to remember.

And you knew exactly when.

The night was so vivid in your mind.

…

He captured your lips in a smooth, knowing, passionate kiss - you didn’t hesitate to moan into his mouth, and Spencer echoed it right back. He had missed you so much during the day; even though he had seen you less than forty-eight hours before this, he felt decades of yearning in his heart.

When he felt the bare head of his cock bump up against your entrance, smearing your wetness over him, he moaned even harder against your mouth. He pulled away from the kiss with a huff, moving his hand to your hip then as he asked a very important question.

“Do you have a condom?”

It broached the front of his mind, then, that he hadn’t brought one with him.

“You don’t need one.” You breathed out in reply, combing your hand through his hair, raking your nails across his scalp in a way that made his hips unconsciously buck forward.

When he felt more of that warm wetness smear across him, his cock just barely dipping into your heat - he didn’t entirely care to decipher the meaning behind your words. He simply trusted you.

“Please, Spencer.” You begged quietly. “I need you. Just you.”

(Later, when he was looking back on it, he would have guessed that you meant you were taking your oral birth control consistently. But looking back on it now - it was the only time within those last months of your relationship that the two of you didn’t use a condom. You were urging him on, and maybe, at the time - a baby truly was what you had in mind.)

He wasn’t one to deny you anyway. And he certainly wasn’t going to deny himself of this.

He reached down and used a hand around the base of his cock to help line himself up, and gently guided the length of his cock into you.

This was always his favorite part.

The gasp - the lilting moan you let out when his cock first slid into you, the way your thighs flexed around his hips - it was all so perfect. But it was even more perfect without the barrier of a condom in the way.

It was perfect. It was so easy; it all came so naturally between the two of you. It was a perfect rhythm between your bodies that came from knowing each other so well, feeling so at ease with each other.

It wasn’t just out of the visceral need to have him inside of you; it was the pure yearning to feel close to him, to have him as physically close as possible.

With you, so tight and beautiful around him - he didn’t last. He couldn’t.

“Y/N.” He warbled out your name, almost as a warning.

“It’s okay.” You breathed back. “Cum for me. Come on, please.”

Spencer couldn’t resist - not when you said ‘please’.

The sound that came from his chest could only be described as a cry, and any fleeting thought he might have had about pulling out left his brain in a millisecond when he felt your tightness fluttering around him, his hips unconsciously fucking deep into you, his body loving the feeling of being held tightly there while your cunt milked him for all he was worth.

He certainly didn’t miss the sweet moans you let out - the bright eyed awe you started up at him with as you felt his cum fill you up for the first time.

…

It was one of the last good memories you had with Spencer - one of the most perfect pictures you had of who he truly was before he came home from Georgia such a different person, and you had no clue why.

Spencer could instantly see the lie in your body language - how closed off you became, how quickly you rushed to cut off his words. Along with the intense heat reflected in your eyes. You were thinking about that night.

He thought he knew exactly which night you were thinking about, and he was going to call you out on it, make you admit in your own words how perfect that night was, even if the two of you were ruined now, a shadow of what you once were.

But he was disrupted by the sound of his phone ringing.

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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twilightcitysky · 9 months

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Everything Is Meant (long S2 analysis, part 2)

Part one here

Okay, so that's how I think the pre-creation scene and Gabriel's arc connect to Aziraphale's choice. I also think the ineffable bureaucracy speedrun exists to prove totally different things to Aziraphale and Crowley: Aziraphale loves that they can love each other but notes they have to run away to be together; Crowley sees this and immediately thinks "hey, we can do that too!", forgetting that running away is not a solution Aziraphale has ever been interested in. It's the mentality of an individualist vs a group-oriented mind, and neither of them is necessarily wrong, it's just that their priorities are different and they HAVE TO TALK ABOUT IT, which they don't.

Continued analysis under the cut:

3. Let's take the Job minisode. Why include it? We already mentioned that it proves Aziraphale remembers Crowley as an angel, since he mentions it. And he believes Crowley is the same person he always was, and that he doesn't want to harm Job's crops or animals or children. Crowley tries to convince him he's a Big Bad Demon who is all in on this assignment, but fails utterly to kill even a single goat, soooo... Aziraphale comes to the conclusion that he knows what Crowley wants. Alert! Alert! This is a big problem! Crowley says, "What do you know about what I want?" Aziraphale: "I know you." Crowley: "You do not know me." But because Aziraphale got it right this time, he goes ahead assuming he'll always get it right, which is a crucial failure when it comes to the final reckoning. He doesn't ever ASK Crowley what he wants, he just assumes. When you assume you know what someone wants, you usually assume their priorities align with yours... he couldn't be more wrong about that. The Job minisode sets up this dynamic for them, and they never really manage to change it.

The other thing happens at the end of the minisode. Crowley acknowledges two crucial points: 1) he's lonely ("But you said it wasn't!" "I'm a demon. I lied"), 2) he doesn't think Aziraphale would like Hell. Aziraphale DOESN'T like Hell. Aziraphale hates Hell for what they've done to Crowley. He doesn't see Heaven as innocent or benign, but importantly, Heaven has never tried to hurt Crowley directly. They never threatened his safety. They never tortured him (as it's heavily implied that Hell did). Fast forward to the last ten mins of season 2: Aziraphale excited to tell Crowley that he can be an angel again BECAUSE: he never has to go back to Hell. They can never hurt him again, not the way they did before. And he doesn't have to be lonely anymore.

Last point before I leave Job: Crowley has the chance to cause Aziraphale to Fall, here, probably. ("I lied to Heaven to thwart the will of God!" "You did, but I'm not going to tell anybody. Are you? ...good, then nothing has to change.") He doesn't take it. He doesn't want Aziraphale to be a demon. He loves Aziraphale as he is. "Angel" as an affectionate. Aziraphale certainly doesn't use "demon" as a pet name for Crowley. I think they set up this scene to contrast the final one, and show how deeply hurt Crowley is that Aziraphale suggest he change.

4. Moving on to Victorian Scotland. This one confused me at first. I was delighted that they brought back the "the lower you start the more opportunity you have to rise" dialogue from the book, but apart from that I didn't really see the point of it. It seems like the statue of Gabriel and the fact that he and Beelz ended up at that pub in the present were more or less coincidental.

The point, I think, is actually not the girl, but the doctor. He's a person who is trying to do good by working in a system that's deeply flawed, and engaging in questionable moral practices for the greater good. (Cadaver dissection is still an essential part of medical school. You need dead bodies to understand living ones.) He shows Aziraphale a tumor he removed from a child who died, and Aziraphale clutches it to his chest. The camera zooms in and lingers to tell us that this is a guardian through and through. He wants to protect people. He wants to do good with every fiber of his being.

To Crowley, it's enough to just "be an us" with Aziraphale. He doesn't really want anything more than that. That's an issue! For one thing, it fosters unhealthy codependency, and for another, Aziraphale would never be happy without the opportunity to help and protect people. It's an essential part of who he is. Metatron knows that, and he plays Aziraphale like a fiddle. The doctor showed Aziraphale that you can make a difference even in systems that are flawed, and even if you have to do things you'd rather not do. Aziraphale doesn't want to go back to Heaven, but he truly thinks he can change things; thinks he can be a guardian with some real power. In his mind, that's the right thing to do.

Last thing that happens in Scotland: Crowley saves a soul from Hell, arguably, by preventing a suicide. He gets in Big Trouble. Whatever happened to him downstairs resulted in him coming back up, leaning on a cane, and asking Aziraphale to give him holy water. Go back and watch that scene knowing what we know now about the Victorian minisode. Ask yourself how Aziraphale must have felt. He likely blamed himself for what happened, because if he hadn't meddled then they never would have been there in the first place. He knew where Crowley was, and why he was there, and he had to sit with that knowledge for years. He desperately wants Crowley to be safe; is perfectly willing to push him away to keep him safe-- which is what he does do, the minute Crowley gets back.

Now think again about what Metatron offered him. A chance to keep Crowley safe forever. He'd never be harmed again. Aziraphale is going to take that offer, no matter what else is asked of him. He's shown over and over again that he'll sacrifice his own happiness to make sure nothing happens to Crowley. And he'll do it without talking to Crowley about it first, because he is a moron who doesn't know how to use his words. Leading Crowley to assume that Aziraphale doesn't love him. The idiot angel is doing it all out of love, but because he doesn't make himself clear Crowley doesn't know that.

Part 3: Maggie and Nina, and their roles as mirror couple/ Greek chorus!

#good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens s2 #good omens s2 spoilers #good omens meta #aziraphale #crowley #everything is meant #good omens analysis #part 3 tomorrow

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