#david u saved lives!!!

[fukashiin]

catching them staring at you + catching you staring at them

— w. heartslabyul and octavinelle

⤷ a heart forgets caution when you're around.

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

when you catch him staring at you.

doused in the celestial light that streams down from the unforgiving heavens, riddle ogles at you, jaw-slacked, as if a monument breathed its way back to life to grace him with its mythical beauty forged by the hands of god. who could blame him when you're both sat on the window ledge, admiring the endless skies that descends onto the earth, gleaming patches of foliage and sea shores that befalls on to the earthly soil.

"are you going to keep staring at me like that? it's getting embarrassing." you cup the plump cheeks that grows heated under the eyes of riddle as every second passes by, wondering if he's even taking in what you just said. you try your hardest to ignore the great turmoil that churns in your stomach as you await his response.

"ah-" he squeaks, "my..apologies. i was lost in thought." he and you both knew he wasn't.

he's neck-deep in the sloshing waters of his thoughts that he calls you. he wishes he could run—maybe even teeter a bit—when the thought, scent, and touch of you pops up in his mind and overflows the rest of it that lingered with the austere memories of his mother and countless magic-driven tomes.

but you were his salvation. the impalpable warrior to his raging nightmares and daydreams that he wishes he could just run away with. away from the peering eyes and faraway roars that submerges him deep into the boundless chasms of the earth.

but you ground him. bring him back onto the surface where you exist.

"you're super cute." you admit and try to siffle another giggle that rides up your throat when a cloudy pink appears onto his cheeks. "where could that have possibly come from?" he bites back, trying and failing to sound as threatening as he could. luckily for you, he doesn't have the heart to do that to the person he very much cherishes.

"it's okay," breathing out a few of the last words that you wanted only riddle to hear, you pull him in by his collar, grabby hands that yearns for the taste of his mouth, and pull him in for a kiss, excited for the future trysts you were about to have with him after this one. "you can stare at me for as long as you'd like."

CATER DIAMOND

when you catch him staring at you.

prolific accounts that roam free across the surface of magicam, cohesive influencers that collaborate to garner a larger audience and fans worldwide for the sake of being seen. but cater doesn't, and can't see that in you.

with his chin resting in the sweaty palms of his hands, he twirls a smooth tendril of his ginger hair and swirling fake mustaches atop of his mouth while he stares at you from afar beneath all the humdrum. there you were, jotting your notes away. skin rubbing against the lined-paper and your hair rustling at the slightest motion of your head across your clothed shoulders.

a picture-perfect visage that rivals those of widely-admired artisans' works of the centuries. one that battles face-to-face with the soaring sunsets and the routinely pruned rose bushes that he thought were pretty enough that pools filled with models and mascara could never compare. but you—apparently could?

"is something the matter?" the sudden capture of his gaze veers his mind into another state of panic. what options of recourse would there be now that you caught him red-handed?

he balked at the idea of you teasing him. "nothing! nothing at all, promise." he conveys a clear thumbs up when he catches you raising a doubtful brow, a captor questioning the suspect when the chances of getting out of his slippery mire was close to zero. you mumble a barely audible okay and slide back into your usual activities.

shortly afterwards, a moment-long snap! sharply cuts through the tense air like a butter knife that slices through a block of butter.

you whip your head towards the sound, as you see cater suspended in the position he was situated in. phone in hands, eyes wide and fidgety. a shoddy attempt to take a picture of you.

"..oops?"

TREY CLOVER

when he catches you staring at him.

splat! thick blotches of cake batter splatters onto the nearby table, tarnishing its reflective surface from the sticky mixture that subsisted off of beaten-up eggs and flour. trey halts and lowers his arm, trying to gauge the untimely situation that unfurled right in front of him then and there. his mixture developed under the guidance of his handy spatula sits untouched, weirdly so.

"y/n?" he calls out your name, purposing himself to walk towards the area you were just standing at. he tries to swat away any thoughts that clouded his mind, namely, you in danger. he loves and spoils you too much, even the hot breaths that fanned against the shell of your ears tighten your chest, wanting more and more.

"t-trey!" seemingly, there's nothing wrong. but an explanation should be out of the question. "uh.."

he places a defined hand on your shoulder, depriving you of any other idealistic excuses to fling his way. you chew the seams of your lips, squirming internally and at yourself to recall any past methods to make use of in the current situation that took ahold of your entire body. "staring at my arms again?"

"don't blame me!" retorting as quick as a bullet train, you raise your arms up in failing defence when he catches you, again—for staring at those forearms of his. the natural stature he possesses does nothing but floods out the rest of the sanity your were desperately holding on to.

a hearty chuckle bubbles up his throat and he lets it out like the dear he is. what an old man.

"be good for me and get the dish cloth that's hanging just right about there, okay?"

ACE TRAPPOLA

when he catches you staring at him.

"did not!"

as the heated tension crackles in the air, ace points an accusatory finger towards you in an attempt to burgle a reasonable defence out of you. so what if you were gawking so shamelessly at the way he threads his fingers through his hair, how post-match sweat dripped at the tip of his chin, the very picture of indulgence. anyone would've buckled their knees at the sight of that. "you'll need something more concrete than that, babe."

effusions of longing clung onto the weight of your heart, weaving through past memories and times you've spent with him as your presence travels back in time. miscalculated opportunities clawed your mind with an animalistic touch, summoning something much deeper hence a bitter aftertaste.

something in you snaps.

ace tries to hide down his upcoming laughter when he inches his face closer to yours, heaving breaths that ignite a spark of forbidden electricity which surges through your entire system, eliciting a tiny yelp out of you. you clench and release your aching hands, hungering for the featherlight touch of his lips soothing against yours. your mouth suddenly feels lonely.

"but, i like that." he strokes your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, "you staring at me like your life depends on it. makes me feel wanted."

no more fooling around.

you both sit still in the position you were placed in. the drab air that used to cloak your beating hearts under the dim lights seems so much more needling than before. it provokes the hidden conviction that tears at the sky-high boundaries of your mind, provoking you to make the first move.

are you holding back like the way he is?

DEUCE SPADE

when you catch him staring at you.

a fiery ember singed his veins, lighting up a trail of wanton desires through his arms that leaves a state of chaos imprinted into his mind. he's fighting a one man army, trying his absolute hardest to utilise what options he could make use of at the moment, however expedient they may seem. god forsake him, while he tries to steady his breath and moisten his lips when you have your head perched on the broad of his shoulders.

he racks him mind for countless possible spiels he could come up with in a matter of seconds once you awoke from your soundless slumber, also acknowledging the fact that he may not scurry his way out under the gaze of your scrutiny.

"y/n.." he tries to prod the crown of your head, while also holding back onto the amount of persistence that laced within.

but it's so unfair.

how could you look so beautiful, drenched in the rivers of the molten sunrise where the beams fractured between your eyelashes and onto your face, a scene that sways hand-in-hand with the times where starlight illuminated your dancing figures on the beach's seashore, waves of glitter and sea findings gifted by the depths of the deep that rides up to your ankles.

how could he not catch his breath when his eyes settled on you?

his gaze lingers on for a little while longer before the scrunch of your nose brings him back to reality. the ends of your lips take a small upturn at how easy it was to fool a man like him. he wishes he weren't so oblivious the way he is the next moment.

"i know you're staring, deuce."

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

when you catch him staring at you.

as if a vortex was sucking him in, blurred implications and foggy amazement was embedded into his mind at the unrealism of your beauty while you glanced up at the swerving fishes and sea creatures manoeuvring side to side. his fingers twitched, longing for the contact of your skin flushed against his, as he pulls you in for a kiss.

he can't get the turmoil that thundered in his head out. him being with the person who dipped his heart in a pool of gold, who acted as a lifelong sentry that shielded him from the outside world and threats that dared to come forth? unthinkable.

but here you were. standing with him, stood in an aquarium nestled deep beneath the murky waters of the sea, just as he offered. you probably wouldn't think that the sea would publish any aquariums, but every once in a while, he wanted to take the time off to showcase a few of the treasuries that anyone had yet to find out about.

your skin was riddled with the gentlest touch of blue, crystal-clear as the skies of the day where the rain was no more. the sight of something so ethereal, standing before him, etched onto his mind where the rising filth of his past lived in.

you glance to the side and catch him, still as a statue. and he's brought back to reality, by something as simple as the lovely timbre of your voice. you hope he's ready for the teasing that waits to ambush him when you two get back to the dorms. "azul! what're those called?"

"hm..?" he pushes the bridge of his spectacles up again, adjusting it so he could take a good look at what you were pointing at. you could say he's pleasantly surprised. "ah, those?"

he takes a step forward and joins you in on your inspection. "they're what i call you, angelfish."

JADE LEECH

when you catch him staring at you.

"you're the perfect muse fitted for this task, i thank you greatly."

you were specially chosen as a muse for the latest art project that recently pounced on him last minute, grief to the forgotten research of the latest species of mushroom that had yet to come out as anything else other than nebulous. that only beckoned him to finish this particular task, first.

"will you angle your face just a bit to the left, dear?"

you abided, and tilted your sun-kissed face to where he was jerking his head at. there you were, perched on top of a criss-cross picnic blanket while graced with a multitude of luscious fruits sitting by your side, as you held up freshly-picked strawberries between the different width of your fingers. dressed in a flowy outfit beautified in frills and lace, and different pearls ornamented across your neck that draped over your collarbone.

jade had his easel brought from home rested amongst the tall grass, sketchpad in its stand and pencil in the movement of his hand. few times where smudged pencil led smeared against the side of his palm, few times where he lost focus by the sight of you.

the beaming rays of the sun that smiled upon your skin and kissed it with its blinding light, as you bathe in the balmy weather that shone across large patches of grass and buildings alike.

jade was in love.

he halts his sketching duties for a few moments, luxuriating in the mere sight of you, how you hold yourself, how you reminded him of summer romances and tender play-fights underneath the bed sheets. how, you were so otherwordly.

it's almost criminal how someone as beautiful as you can exist in this tainted world—so much that he doesnt realise the eyes that strayed away from his work and onto the heated flesh of your face. you notice the loss of the sound of rough sketching against the paper, and gradually looked at jade as your eyes met his.

"laying a little thick on the staring there, don't you think?"

and just like that, everything that was properly arranged, from the resting sketchpad—to the different mediums placed in a metal tin nearby—winds up tumbling to the ground. himself included.

welp.

FLOYD LEECH

when he catches you staring at him.

floyd takes multiple sideswipes across the court, weaving through hurdles of opponents that tried but miserably failed to take down his figure that charged through burdening people from the opposing team. he makes a startling turn to the rear, bolts his legs off the ground and leaps as high as how Hermes was in his prime, quick and furious as the raging wind.

he lands with a loud blow, and the stadium breaks out in an undying state of pandemonium.

you've heard rumours of how high floyd can jump that abounded between the school walls—it was even mentioned to be near-comedic, but he snatched your breath away, crumbled it beneath his feet and razed the entire city to the ground until mere rubble and shards of glass was all that was left. theoretically—if he actually wanted to.

and you can't help but gawk. at the tall stature that yielded victory in his hands in a glorious light, how the hem of those basketball shorts flared against his thighs as he jogs through the court, sending high-fives to his teammates and accidentally striking jamil in the head.

oh, how such a rare moment presented to you makes you want to spurt in his direction and throw your arms around his body.

you sat there, awestruck by his beauty that ensconced you in its presence. a rush of blood warms your cheek, as you slowly rose your phone up in your hands to seize the opportunity to take a recording of him basking in his splendour.

a split second later, he takes sight of you in his field of vision, emits a small snicker and calls out to you. "y/n! think fast!"

"wha-" he grabs the headband that circled his head, took it off, and flung it to where you were sat. you quickly lunged your body forward to reach out for it, fumbling with the fabric in your hands and eventually relaxed in your seat. you smiled, and wrapped it around your wrist, producing multiple layers to envelop it in the warmth.

you whisper a small "thank you" as you looked at him, the love growing in your eyes like a sprout that craved for its growth, akin to how you were trying to hold yourself back from running up to him this second. you then remember—that nothing is holding you back.

#listened to crush by david archuleta while writing this #david u saved lives!!! #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts x reader #cater diamond x reader #trey clover x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #riddle rosehearts #cater diamond #trey clover #ace trappola #deuce spade #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech

[aq2003]

really love how throughout a lot of smith and jones martha is really skeptical and apprehensive towards ten (+ one of my favorite exchanges between them - "what, people call you 'the doctor'?" "yeah?" "well, i'm not. far as i'm concerned, you've got to earn that title."), not taking everything he says at face value, even doubting the fact he's an alien until over halfway through the episode.. And like. i really truly think the thing that wins her over isn't him kissing her or any of the other insane mixed messages he manages to send, it's this scene here, where he /earns that title/ in her eyes:

(+ david's bit in the commentary, where he says: "[the doctor] has actually sacrificed himself, and - i would say, that that final act of selflessness is what finally, eventually, welds martha to him. [...] and she now returns it. she returns that act of selflessness.")

this is what their relationship is built on. it isn't about martha being the second-best replacement to rose or a rebound or whatever. bc it isn't really about rose. it's about doctor-in-training martha meeting someone (quite literally, "the doctor") whose ideals she aspires to, and doing her best to be the same person to him as he is to everyone else. it's about ten in return admiring her intelligence and inquisitiveness and how she cares for human life, recovering his compassion, letting himself lean on her for support - and then remembering at the most inopportune moments that he's supposed to not need anyone and be on his own forever. And around in their little nightmare loop they go where they save each other over and over until one of them breaks

i've seen ppl look at martha and go "why she does she admire/why is she so in love with ten if he acts like that to her?" or something along those lines and like. it's not just the fact she's in love with him (in fact i'd argue she actively tries to push it aside post-gridlock). it's the fact that she knows he's the kind of person to put everyone else's lives/well-being over his own. she trusts him to save her when she's in trouble even though it's been like two days at most that they've known one another bc she recognizes that same "deep all-encompassing drive to help others" in him. and she also recognizes, much much earlier than him, that he needs someone to save him, especially when he's unwilling to save himself. and yeah for a bit she thinks he returns her feelings and is just playing hard-to-get, but she realizes pretty early on that this probably isn't the case, and i think that realization fully solidifies here:

(this is when she's listening to ten talk abt gallifrey). And idk it might just be me but i think this expression isn't just her empathizing with his loss. it's also guilt, for wanting something from him that he's clearly unable to give when he's wracked with so much grief. (and you see it in the next episode, where tallulah asks if they're together and martha says for certain that they're not, and that he doesn't know about her feelings for him. she keeps everything to herself bc she now knows that when he shut her flirting down at the end of 3x01 it was the genuine reaction of someone who a) isn't interested and b) is scared of getting close with someone else again)

freema described their dynamic as "she's keener than him" and i think about this all the time. martha doesn't really take what ten throws at her. what she does instead is constantly poke holes in his already-failing front of "i will show someone the wonders of the universe so i can ignore what is wrong with me". what she does is stand up and fight him when he tries to go off on his own. what she does is put aside her well-being in favor of helping someone - just like what she saw him do for the people in the hospital when they first met. tldr, that's the doctor and his doctor and rip martha you would've loved who's gonna save u now by rina sawayama

#THIS ISNT ABOUT ROSE WE CAN STOP THINKING ABOUT THAT WHITE GIRL FOR 1 SECOND. IDC #ALL SHE DOES W REGARDS TO MARTHA IS REMIND HER THAT TEN ISNT GOING TO FALL IN LOVE W HER. #ALL SHE DOES W REGARDS TO TEN IS REMIND HIM THAT EVERY TIME HE LOVES SOMEONE HES FATED TO LOSE THEM. WE CAN IGNORE HER PAST THIS. GBLESS #martha jones #tenth doctor #dr who #ten and martha #'theyre like a rebound' shooting you with my laser eyes sorry. martha says it when she still thinks he's taking her on dates #if he hadn't opened up about gallifrey she would've been totally fine w him taking her back home #and meanwhile ten is very unaware of any kind of romantic element until like the fuckinn. last possible moment lmfao #they are doctor and mentally unstable bus driver. Or perhaps grieving man (genderneutral) and their One (1) friend that has to support them #um idk what this post is. i wanted to pick apart martha's brain for a hot second. #edit: #it's not like 5 am and i'm reading these tags and they're a lot more mean than i meant to put them down as #Not changing them bc i already wrote so much it's out there in the world already sorry. just imagine i'm saying this all nicely #10 era

[wisteriagoesvroom]

hello hello! Are you still doing fluffy prompts? If so may I please ask for cuddling in a bathtub or something?

I'm not annoning I have no shame or dignity left

so your idea spurred another idea. it is tangential, but i hope it still delivers on the Soft Vibes. thank u for prompting 🫂

don't take too much (off of me)

📝 1.3k words 💟 lestappen 🟢 rated G 🔗 also on ao3

“Stop moving.”

“I’m not.”

Charles twirls the scissors between two fingers, hoping that his posture is authoritative enough that Max will quit squirming in his chair. They are in the middle of lockdown and neither is sure when their tentative friendship turned into this – at first it was innocuous knocks on the door to play FIFA, then it was to borrow a jar of pesto here and there. Then, trampling into each other’s apartments. Max knowing to wipe his shoes on the carpet, Charles helping pick up cat food on his regular run to the grocery store (in line with lockdown mandates, they’re only allowed to go to the store twice a week.)

And now they are here. Max sitting on a dining room chair, leaning back, a makeshift cowl around his shoulders that Charles had stolen from his maman’s salon. Max tries not to twitch or move, knowing that the process of hair cutting is a delicate process. Sure, he has sat for a haircut many times before, but never under the hands of this erratic ball of energy that is Charles Leclerc, who is currently brandishing a blade like a child would a spork.

“Do you trust me, or not?” Charles says. Indignant.

“I’m here, am I not?”

“Unhappily, it seems.”

“Kerel. You have wavy hair. You look like a Disney prince. Me? One wrong move of the scissors and there will be memes in my name.”

“But it’s kind of fun when they are making the memes about you. No?”

Max glowers. “It is when they’re nice ones.”

Charles makes a noise between a snort and a guffaw. Charles perched on a stool behind him, so he can’t see the other man’s expression. But when Max looks to the corner of his living room, Max can see Charles’s face in the reflection there. Just a sliver of his face, in profile. Max expects to find Charles’s eyes crinkled, maybe teasing. Max is used to it, after all. Being the an easy target, a convenient villain. Because a lion never roars back. Not outside of the track, anyway. Even if he sometimes hides in his apartment with his cats and licks his wounds instead.

Max’s shoulders tense, hackles up. But Charles’s eyes are very soft. The punchline never comes.

“Well. I think you very handsome, Maximilian.” Charles says.

Oh. Max’s throat bobs. He doesn’t really know what to say. He’s been called many things in the past. Handsome isn’t necessarily one of them. And somehow it has a greater weight, a different bearing, when it comes from Charles. Because Charles is someone he’s begun to acknowledge that he cares about, perhaps a great deal.

“And now! We are doing the short at the sides and long at the top, oui?” Charles says. Snapping straighter in his makeshift hairdresser’s stool, energy whipping through him like lightning. Changing the topic as if he hadn’t just confessed to Max the very same thing that Max has been thinking about Charles for weeks – or if he’s honest – years, now.

“Whatever you do, make sure it’s tidy, yeah?”

“Come on mate. I am always careful.”

“Like you were when you drove into the Copse wall.”

“That was an isolated incident. Due to a combination of unexpected mechanical factors.”

“Pfft. Okay. Save that response for Sky.”

“You’re nearly as annoying as them, sometimes.” Charles says, frown gentle before he lifts the scissors again. 

Comfortably back in their banter-y element, the chatter continues. Charles is careful about his work, the blades moving slowly and carefully. And what Charles lacks in finesse he makes up for in social skills, clearly inheriting this from his parents. Talking and filling the silence comfortably, wandering from topics as diverse as sailing on the Monaco coastline, to David Guetta’s recent bizarre fundraiser video, to the latest model of automatic cat feeder that has become available on the market. Charles’s fingers brush his jaw occasionally to adjust the angle, scissors glinting in the afternoon sun. Max deliberately avoids eye contact, only glimpsing at him occasionally to share a laugh. 

At the end, Charles uses a towel to brush the loose hair off Max’s neck. They both get up to stand at Max’s living room mirror, surveying Charles’s handiwork. Their reflections loom large, shoulder to shoulder at the same height. Besides, Max isn’t really looking at himself, and neither is Charles, either.

“It’s good, yes?” Charles says. Low, conspiratorial.

Max’s grip tightens on the towel that he’s holding. His pulse etches up. The whole afternoon has been gentle touch, contact that aches because the pandemic has made him even more pathetically wanting than usual. Contact that he’s been trying very hard not to think about or keep for more nefarious purposes later. 

The other man's gaze is warm in the mirror. Max thinks of fresh cut grass at Imola, his favourite corner in Silverstone.

“Yes.” Max says. It’s good. The haircut, him, them. This strange rhythm they’ve found together. The quiet space of each other’s apartment, each other’s company, temporarily safe from the world. The trust offered to one another: enough to let them run you into gravel and trust that it was worth the fight. Enough to hold a blade in your hand and only let one other person in the world come near you with it. Risk, and promise.

Then he’s turning towards Charles. Charles mirroring him. The light is bright and the sky blue in the window, but all Max can see for a moment is Charles’s face, his half open mouth ripe like a plum. The scent, this close, of Charles’s carrefour laundry softener and woody aftershave.

And they’re leaning towards each other, a boundary they might finally cross, let the cards fall where they fucking may, when—

A yowl. A screech. A mighty crash. 

“Sassy!” Max says, practically jumping out of his skin.

Both men whip around at the source of the noise. Sassy’s frozen on a shelf, a beige mass with yellow eyes. Paw half up, looking guilty – if a cat could look guilty– at a trophy that he has just knocked off a counter. Jimmy, on the other hand, is absolutely nowhere to be seen, already having escaped the scene of the crime.

Max groans into his hands. But then Charles is laughing, an asthmatic penguin noise that Max has really come to like. It melts the fire in Max a little, amusement tempering his frustration. (The trophy is not the source of Max’s current frustration, but Charles does not need to know that.) 

“I shall get the broom.” Charles says.

“Thanks.”

So the moment passes. They clean up. On their hands and knees, near, but not touching. The broken trophy is the one he got for his overtake on Nasr in his first year in F1, and offers a chance for them to reminisce about their races. For Max to joke a little about whether Charles will get his first WDC when the pandemic is over, both of them excited about the future, a future with both of them in it, still trying, still racing each other to the brink. It’s much easier to do this, than to talk about the almost-kiss, or break the seal on this moment that they know won’t last forever.

Debris cleared, and the cats shooed into the study, Charles mentions that he should go return his equipment to his mother. They stand at the doorway for a moment that stretches too long.

Max doesn’t know how long they have. Of this, of each other. Of being left alone, of the world not encroaching with cameras or demands for explanations or labels for what they are. Of getting to know each other not as competitors, but on their own terms, in their own time.

But for a long time, Max will always remember this moment. The two of them, a dining chair. His crazy cats, Charles’s toothy smile. Their partial reflections in the mirror, an afternoon unfolding with potential.

A warm hand on his back to let him know he’s cared for, and looked after.

#lestappen #f1 rpf #max verstappen #charles leclerc #3316 #1633 #drabble #f1 drabble #prompt fill #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #fluff #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 fic #ficlet #formula 1 rpf #f1 fic #wisteriawritesstuff

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | Chapter 6

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 6: Present

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Series Summary: When posting bail for Frankie Morales, your former employer and former lover, you unwittingly designate yourself as his third party custodian during his pre-trial release. Your often tumultuous relationship with him is given a new set of rules and put to the test. Can the two of you co-exist peacefully, or will you crash and burn?

Word Count: 9.2k+

Content / Warnings: Frankie POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship and related flashbacks, angst, food, AA meeting, alcoholism, abuse mention, lying, confrontation, crying, mutual masturbation, panty snatchin' (sorry idk what else to call it)

Notes: Hello hello hello! If you want the taglist, spotify playlist, or AO3 link, head on down to the masterlist. I appreciate your patience in waiting for this, thank you so much for reading. Ok love u have fun!

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Tonight, the AA meeting is being held in the conference room of a value hotel. 

The three-story venue is ripe with families on vacation and traveling professionals who likely booked their rooms as a cost-saving measure. They certainly didn’t choose to stay here because of its charming features, such as the floating island of dead bugs in the outdoor swimming pool, or the dingy low-pile carpet darkened in high-traffic areas, or the generic, faded landscape portraits in shiny golden frames. 

Its conference room is windowless, the only source of light buzzing from long fluorescents overhead, dousing everything in a twitchy, vague sort of green that grips Frankie’s stomach. 

Or, maybe it’s just the story he’s listening to that’s making him feel ill. 

Maybe a little bit of both, it’s hard to tell. 

“She had her heart set on leaving, ‘n’ I told her, nobody fuckin’ wants you here anyway, Mary Beth, go on home!” 

The haggard old man, who introduced himself as Fred, says this in a jovial, rehearsed way that tells Frankie this story has been told many times. Probably over drinks, to coworkers, or friends, or anyone who happened to be within earshot at his regular barstool. 

Fred glances around over his puffy, purpled nose, like he half expects his spectators’ laughter, but the only noise is the squeak of people’s uncomfortable shifting in seats. Either because the story is too relatable, or because these folding chairs are hell on the tailbone. 

“She told me if I didn’t get my ass outta that barstool, she’d be gone when I got home,” he looks at the floor and his cheeky grin falls, “I didn’t go home ‘til barclose. ‘N’ she was still there. Knew she would be. She always was.”

The room is silent as he gathers his thoughts. 

“She passed away, few years back,” he looks around, putting his calloused hands up defensively, “‘N’ I miss her everyday, don’t get me wrong, but—”

The well-weathered skin of his face sags into solemnity, “I kinda wish she woulda kicked me to the curb, y’know? Was always waitin’ for it, for her to get fed up ‘n’ leave, but she never did. ‘N’ I think, sometimes, maybe… she woulda lived a better life if she did. ‘Steada waiting around for some drunk, she coulda really made somethin’ out of herself. And I feel…” he frowns at the floor, trying to pinpoint the correct emotion, a skill undoubtedly atrophied by decades of avoidance.

“Regret, I think? Wasting so much of her life. It’s one thing wastin’ my life, but her’s… I dunno. It don’t sit right,” Fred clears his throat and swallows, then sighs, “Guess that’s it. Our anniversary’s coming up next week, she’s been on my mind ‘n’ I wanted to get that out.” 

The ringleader for tonight is David, as is usually the case at the Monday night meetings Frankie attends. He thanks Fred for sharing, then asks for another volunteer. 

Frankie leans back in his seat and presses his fingers to his lips as another participant clears their throat and begins to talk. He’s stuck on the old man’s story, though. His knee starts bouncing as he turns it over in his mind. 

I’m not that bad, right? I wasn’t that absent. I didn’t go to the bar every night. On the weekends, sure. And on weeknights, I’d drink myself fuzzy and numb, but at least I was at home.

Was he really present, though? 

Before you, when Angie was home with Sarah on maternity leave, he’d come home from work and visit with them for a while. Knock a few beers or drinks back. After dinner, he would continue to drink in the garage, or in the basement. Somewhere Angie couldn’t raise her eyebrows every time he finished a beverage and retrieved a replacement. 

Even after you, this ritual continued. You distracted him enough to slow the drinking those few hours after he got home. But once the table was cleared after dinner, he would tuck himself away somewhere in the house to drink alone. 

It wasn’t always that way. 

He drank, sure, but it wasn’t every day. It wasn’t to the point his mind went blank. 

No, that didn’t start until he returned from South America. 

Every time his eyelids closed, it played on repeat. The mansion. The crash. The village. Redfly’s vacant eyes. Over and over. His culpability hung around his neck like a noose. 

The guys didn’t want to talk about it. A silent agreement not to mention their sins. Angie didn’t want to talk about it. Too pissed at him for going in the first place to feel bad for him. 

It just stayed inside him, replaying again and again on loop. He needed something to wipe the slate clean, and booze worked. 

Not like he was sober before then. Drinking himself blind on the weekends. Fuck, Angie was the same way. Before she got pregnant, anyway. That’s how they ended up meeting, that summer night back in 2018. 

He and Benny went to one of their frequent Saturday spots. The bar was crowded and loud, heavy throngs of people attracted by a popular local DJ. Summer heat crept into the air despite the industrial air conditioner running at full blast, Florida’s relentless humidity hung thick in the air, leaving a dewy residue on every surface. 

The only thing Frankie could smell was that primal, earthy scent of sweat. He pinched his shirt and pulled it away from his chest with a few quick tugs, trying to get some kind of a breeze going. When he looked around the bar, swathes of exposed skin all surrounded him, people wiping their foreheads and fanning themselves. 

He spotted two women sitting at a high-top table, leaning over their drinks and talking to each other. One of them was a pretty, unassuming brunette. The other had glossy black hair that shone in the neon lights, cascading in waves down the open back of her dress. She looked put together and fucking luminous, the way her copper skin seemed to glow. He couldn’t look away. 

Benny was in the middle of a sentence when Frankie cut him off, “Holy shit, look at her.” 

“What—who?” Benny followed Frankie’s line of sight and guffawed, “Her? She would eat you for fucking breakfast, man.”

“I fucking wish,” Frankie gave Benny this dopey smile, nodding towards them, “You getting a feel on the friend?”

Benny glanced her over and shrugged, a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth, “Pretty brunette?” 

“Right up your alley, huh?” Frankie grinned, then nudged his friend, “So?”

“Fuck it, why not?” Benny chuckled. 

“Atta boy,” Frankie smacked his shoulder a few times, then started off towards the table. 

“Hey, how’re you two doing tonight?” he asked as he leaned against the table, looking between the two women, who sized him up scrupulously, “Yeah, uh, my name is Frankie, this is my buddy, Benny. Mind if we join you?” 

“Why?” the subject of his desire asked, her big, round eyes searching Frankie’s face. 

“Why?” he raised his eyebrows and chuckled, “Well, because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. I’d sell my goddamn soul for an opportunity to talk to you—”

“Oh yeah?” she smirked and tilted her head, bringing the tip of her tongue to her top teeth before shrugging, “Prove it.” 

“You—you want it? My soul?” he grinned and leaned closer, “It’s yours, beautiful, for the low, low price of this barstool next to you. And maybe, if you’re feeling generous, a dance later?”

“That’s a hell of a deal,” she raised her eyebrows and joked, “For you, I mean.”

“Oh yeah?” he laughed, “What if I throw in a sweetener? I’ll buy your drinks, too, how’s that sound?” 

She scrunched her face up in contemplation, then smiled, “Deal.”

“Yeah?” Frankie beamed, extending his hand to her, and as she took it, he grazed his thumb against her soft skin, “What’s your name?”

“Angie,” she answered, eyebrow quirking as she told him, “This doesn’t mean you’re taking me home tonight, though.”

“Noted,” he smirked, dropping his eyes to her lips, before meeting her gaze, “So what’re you drinking?”

He woke up the next morning in his bed, head spinning, stomach clenching. 

Before opening his eyes, he tried to recount the night, following the path of breadcrumbs his memory allowed him. Meeting Angie, taking shots, flirting with her relentlessly, more drinks, dancing with her. Kissing her on the dance floor. The sidewalk slabs uneven beneath his feet on the walk back to his apartment. A woman’s razor sharp giggle as he fumbled to unlock the door. 

The mattress shifted beside him and he cracked one eyelid open tentatively, releasing a sigh of relief when he recognized Angie as the person tangled up in his sheets. Traces of the previous night’s makeup still held in tact on her face, oily pools gathering in the soft wrinkles of her forehead and eyes, black mascara clinging to her lashes in clumps and flaking onto her cheeks, a faint red outline where her lipstick was before he kissed it off of her. He rolled on his side towards her and brushed some of the sweat-dampened hair from her forehead. 

She hummed and frowned, then took a deep, wakeful breath as her eyes blinked open. They were stunning in the light. Golden streaks like sunbeams stretching from the middle of her iris into a deep, rich brown. 

“Oh, fuck,” she murmured, “We fucked, didn’t we?”

“That’s what it’s looking like,” he smirked, “How’re you feeling?”

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her button nose, “Still drunk.”

“Regret this yet?” he chuckled, half-joking, half-wondering. 

“Having sex with a stranger? Yeah, I’m having some regrets,” she scoffed, shaking her head, then threw her hand down at her side. She sighed and studied his face, “You’re cute, though. Kind of wish I could remember it.”

“Ditto,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with a shrug, “You know, we could have a do-over. Since we’re already here and regretting it. You could… let me have another chance to, ya know, make a lasting impression.” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” her dark eyebrow arched. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. She brought her long, red fingernails to his hairline and combed them through his bed head. 

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded, dropping his gaze to her lips, “Plus, that way, when this hangover inevitably kills me, I’ll die a happy man.” 

“Is that right?” she giggled. The sound made his heart sing in harmony. 

“That’s right,” he reached out to her under the covers, smoothing his hands along her soft skin, coaxing her closer as he murmured, “What do you think, princesa, hmm?”

“I think,” she wriggled on top of him, the sticky heat of her naked body clinging to his, “I could give you a fighting chance.“

She hovered over him, meeting his eyes for an intoxicating moment before he pulled her lips to his. From there, it was full throttle. Kissing, biting, gasping, moaning. Torrid, frenzied movements that burned bright and hot. 

Their relationship took off at break-neck speed. 

From that day onward, they were doing nightly sleepovers at each others’ apartments. Every free moment spent with the other, most often spent drinking or fucking. Six days into their relationship, Frankie got a text from some girl he was casually seeing. Angie read it when he was out of the room, then confronted him, resulting in their first drunk screaming match, and, subsequently, their first instance of drunk make-up sex. 

She worked at a global manufacturing plant’s central office with hundreds of other carpet-walkers and pencil-pushers as a financial analyst. Her hours often ran long and wound her up tight. 

When she would show up at Frankie’s apartment after work, she’d be ready to burst. He’d fix her a drink and listen to her bitch about coworkers and projects and idiots who used reply all instead of reply, waiting for her to ask him anything about his day. She never seemed all that curious about him, though, which irked him. 

They did have fun together, when they had sex and went out to bars, but by the end of the second month, he found her presence to be draining. That bug of discontentment wriggled beneath his skin. He realized they had little in common aside from their coping mechanisms and combustibility. 

He started to think about breaking things off with Angie, but, by then, it was too late. 

“Who would like to go next?” David asks, glancing around the circle of metal folding chairs and their scattered occupants. 

Frankie meets his eyes and points his index finger at the ceiling. 

“Floor’s yours, Frankie.” 

“Thanks,” Frankie nodded and crossed his arms, sitting back in the squeaky chair, “Growing up, my dad wasn’t around much,” his mouth opens, but a thought occurs to him and he chuckles, shaking his head, “There’s one for the AA Meeting Bingo Card, huh?” 

This actually earns a few amused grins and a snort of laughter from his peers. 

He leans forward, pressing his elbows into his knees with a shrug, “Anyway. Even when he was living with us, whenever I did see him, he had a beer in his hand. And I thought it was normal, like everyone’s dad went to the bar every night, so I didn’t think much of it. I’m not sure when that changed. When I started to notice, I mean, that it wasn’t normal.

“When I’d go to my friend’s house, I thought they were… I dunno, fucking weird? Because they sat around the dinner table and talked to each other while they ate. And—and they didn’t seem afraid of their dad. Like, they didn’t have to walk on eggshells when he was around, which made me… uncomfortable, I guess,” he grimaces and shakes his head, “Jesus Christ, that’s fucked up. But, anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that, to me, my dad’s behavior was normal. 

“There would be times when he would come home and be three sheets to the goddamn wind, and he’d yell and throw shit, and my ma, she would lock me in my bedroom and tell me not to come out. Said my dad wasn’t feeling well,” he crinkles his nose and shrugs, “They split when I was twelve. And I don’t blame her for leaving him, I really don’t, but… I didn’t see him again until I got out of basic.”

He stops and leans back, taps his fingers on his kneecaps, then crosses his arms. A knot tightens in his throat when he remembers that day. Knocking on the door of his dad’s shitty apartment in Orlando. When it swung open, Frankie barely recognized him. 

Seven years left to his own devices aged him decades. Deep wrinkles carved into his droopy forehead. His nose and cheeks were darkened and bumpy, like he had a pubescent case of acne. He looked Frankie over with glossy, barely-there eyes and slurred, “There’s my boy! Hey, come in, Francisco, come in!”

Frankie’s stomach soured when the words hit his face, thick and swollen with whiskey. A warning signal that laid dormant in his veins for years reawakened, gushing hot and electric beneath his staticky skin. 

His father turned and started waddling into the apartment, so Frankie followed him, closing the door left wide open behind him. The apartment was threadbare. A dingy beige couch sat on one side of the living room, facing a small antennaed tv propped up on a milk crate. Some blonde news anchor chattered on the tv, but the gurgling buzz of the air conditioning unit effectively muted her. In lieu of a proper dining room setup, his father had a folding chair tucked into a card table, which was cluttered by piles of unopened envelopes and empty beer cans.

While the stranger pulled two beer cans out of his fridge, Frankie managed to stitch some words together, “So, how’ve you been, Dad?”

He didn’t seem to hear his question, just held one aluminum can across the countertop to his son, “You’re a real man now, huh? Have a beer with me, Francisco.” 

Frankie took a few steps forward and went to lean onto the counter, but decided against it when he realized how sticky the surface was. He accepted the beer and opened it. 

“It’s been too long, my boy, too long. What has it been, four years?”

“Seven,” Frankie corrected, averting his gaze to a tower of dirty dishes emerging from cloudy, gray water in the sink. The wet, bacterial, rotting stench made his nose crinkle. 

“Ah, well. I’m, well…” he trailed off and swallowed three big gulps of beer, then grinned, “So, Special Forces, huh?”  

“Yeah, I—”

“I’m proud of you, Francisco.” 

Frankie’s head jerked backwards and he met his dad’s dark eyes, “Wh-what?” 

“Takes discipline,” he responded, nodding, “I’m proud of you. Your mom, she did a good job with you.”

And he wanted to say a million different things. He wanted to say thank you and I love you and I forgive you and I hate you and fuck you. He wanted to yell: No thanks to you, you drunk old bastard. You woman-beating fucking coward. A different part of him wanted to cry: Why did you abandon me? Why wasn’t I good enough? Am I good enough now?

But when he licked his lips and opened his mouth to respond, his dad shuffled off into the sad living room, changing the subject. 

Frankie shakes his head and sighs, then looks around the room, “When Angie got pregnant, I vowed I’d never be like him. I—I wanted to be there for my kid, to be better than he was to me, and give my child a better life than I had. 

“Ang and I don’t always, um… see eye-to-eye. We have our problems. I’m trying to make it work, but I’m just so,” the word catches in his throat and burns behind his eyes. He takes a deep breath, swallows, and admits, “I’m so scared it’s not going to work. And Ang will take her. And I’ll end up just like him.”

He clears his throat, then takes another wide, cleansing breath before starting again.

“The only things I’ve ever been any good at are being a soldier and being a dad,” he says, staring at the floor, “It’s hard enough only seeing her a few times a week right now. I fucking hate it. I hate not being there when she wakes up in the middle of the night with a nightmare, and not watching Happy Feet with her twice a day, and not cuddling on the couch with her in the morning,” his stomach clenches and he feels a swell of tears starting behind his eyes, but continues, “The only thing getting me through this right now is knowing that it’s temporary. But if it doesn’t work with Angie, and I lose Sarah, I lose fucking everything. And I—I fucking can’t do that. I won’t.”

Frankie buries his face in his hands and feels a sob bubble up his throat. The echo of his crying returns to his ears and he becomes acutely aware of the other people in the room. That hardened part of his brain scolds him, growling at him to fucking get it together. He pushes the chair out behind him and keeps his head down as he walks out of the room, muttering, “I need a minute.”

When your shitty old car pulls into the hotel parking lot, Frankie is still outside pacing, trying to gather the courage to go back inside and face the group. 

He breathes a sigh of relief and starts towards it. You furrow your brow at him through your cracked windshield. When he opens the car door and sits down, you ask, “Why aren’t you in there?”

“It’s fine,” he frowns and pulls his seatbelt over his chest, locking it in place, “Got out early.”

You narrow your eyes at him, then scoff, “Bullshit. What happened?”

“Nothing—”

“Oh my god, Frankie, come on,” you cross your arms and lean back in your seat, searching his face, “You’re all flustered right now—”

“I am not,” he protests.

“You’re such a liar, you are flus-tered,” you blink at him with authority, raising one eyebrow, “All jittery, and your eyes look red—did you cry? Is that it?”

It’s irritating how well you know him. 

He rolls his eyes and looks out the window, muttering against his fingers, “Can we just go?”

“It’s ok, you know, to cry,” you say quietly. 

His leg starts bouncing and his jaw gnashes from one side to the other.

Like you’re one to talk. 

Like you don’t go out of your way to hide from him every time tears pool in your eyes. 

“Hey,” you coo and tug on his hand. He lets you take it, interlacing his fingers with yours. The contact makes his heart skip a beat. When he looks over at you, your brows are threaded together, earnest eyes searching his face, “You’re not the first person to cry in AA, I promise. They’re there to support you. Give them a chance to help.” 

He glances up at the hotel’s exit and sees a few people from the meeting filing out, and shrugs, “It’s over now, anyways.”’

“Did you get your paper signed?” 

“No.”

“C’mon, at least get credit for your work,” you smirk, squeezing his hand, “I’m sure they’ll understand why you left.” 

He groans and scrubs a hand over his face, “Fine.” 

“Atta boy,” you grin, “Do you want me to come with or do you got this?”

“I got this,” he flashes a weak smile, and has to hold himself back from bringing the back of your hand to his lips. 

He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the vehicle, nodding at a few familiar faces as he makes his way back into the building to the conference room. 

In the room, a few people are putting away chairs or talking in small, quiet groups. David stands by the snack table, signing off on someone’s attendance form. Frankie lines up behind them and avoids David’s gaze when it’s his turn to hand over the attendance sheet. 

“That was really vulnerable, what you shared with us today,” David tells Frankie as he unfolds the form. 

His nostrils flare and he scoffs, “I thought I was supposed to share things.”

David frowns as he signs off on the paper, shaking his head, “It’s a compliment. Being vulnerable is good, and I appreciate your vulnerability.” 

“Oh,” Frankie shifts his weight to one leg and frowns, “Thanks.” 

“Yeah, of course,” David hands the form back, and when Frankie takes it, he can tell David is gearing up to say more. His face grows more solemn. He pushes the wire frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, “I know how conflicting it is being an alcoholic father with an alcoholic father. It’s hard to know if you’re doing the right thing. Being apart from them is hell, even if it’s when you’re doing something to make yourself better. I just wanted to let you know that I get it.” 

Frankie nods, searching the man’s face, “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” David flashes a polite smile, then turns to the snack table and starts picking things up. 

When the two of you get home, Frankie goes into your bedroom to haul the TV back to its normal spot in the living room. 

He finds himself lingering at the foot of the bed, staring at the side he slept in last night. At the covers, still drawn back from when he woke for work this morning. At the stuffed panda bear you set in his place at some point today. 

My place. 

He needs to stop thinking like that. It’s not his place. It can’t be his place. 

Not permanently, anyway. 

Part of him feels guilty for not leaving once you fell asleep. Staying was pure self-indulgence, no matter how many times he tries to convince himself it was for your benefit. 

It can’t become a habit. 

But all weekend he wanted to hold you. To feel your beating heart and shallow, wheezy breath against his body. Proof that you were still here, after seeing you gasping for air, lips tinged blue, eyes wide with fear. 

In his life, he’s faced a lot of scary and uncertain situations. Situations that threatened his own life and that of people he cares about. But this… this was different. At least in combat scenarios, he had training and experience to guide him. 

This weekend he felt powerless. 

If he had to quantify the terror, he was at maximum capacity. Never been so fucking afraid in his life. He felt so helpless, he folded his hands and bowed his head at your hospital bedside, reaching out to something or someone in hushed whispers, pleading for your recovery. 

So, no, he couldn’t bring himself to leave you alone in your bed last night. Not when you fell asleep in his arms, your head on his chest, curled up at his side. 

The answer to his prayers. 

When he was sure you were sleeping, he pressed his lips to your forehead and told you what he’s only barely been able to admit to himself. 

In a million different ways, I’ve always loved you.

It was indulgent. Undisciplined. 

But mostly, it was a relief. 

Even if his words fell on your sleeping ears. 

Even if he can probably never tell you again. 

With a heavy sigh, he follows the TV’s power cord to the wall and unplugs it. He freezes when he spots something on the floor next to your dresser. You cough at the other end of the house, and he glances over his shoulder just to make sure you’re not around before he picks it up. 

A pile of soft teal lace. Your underwear. 

He brings them to his nose and inhales, the familiar scent inspiring a deep, heated churn at the base of his spine. Without another thought, he shoves them in the front pocket of his jeans, then unplugs the TV. 

Frankie settles on the couch with a groan, then glances over to where you’re curled up into a little ball and asks, “Were you able to get some rest today?”

You nod and your mouth stretches into a yawn, then you murmur, “Still kind of feel like shit, though. Hopefully it’s better by Wednesday.”

“Oh yeah, how’re your kids doing?” 

“Marla said they’re doing better, getting back to their normal selves. Em’s going back to school tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” he leans back and spreads out in his corner of the couch, “You like it, working for them?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “They’re sweet kids. Whole different vibe than Sarah, though,” you glance at him and chuckle, “Don’t tell anybody, but she was my favorite.” 

A grin stretches across Frankie’s face. He presses his fingertips to his lips and looks over at you, “She is pretty great, huh?” 

“The best,” you agree, a wistful smile playing on your lips, “I hope that when I, um,“ you falter here, smile dropping. You clear your throat and shake your head, “Sorry, I lost my train of thought. Are you guys doing anything fun tomorrow?”

“Not sure yet. Angie, um… yeah, I don’t know,” he frowns at his knee as it starts to bounce, “She’s pissed at me. So probably, you know, dealing with that.”

“Because you skipped out on Saturday?”

He nods, and when you don’t say anything, he glances over at you, “It’s fine, though, she��ll get over it.”

“Sure,” you smirk, raising an eyebrow, “Have things been going ok outside of that?”

“Aside from the alcoholism, my pending felony, and the fact that I’m living with another woman?” he snorts, “Things are going great.” 

“Don’t forget the affair,” you tease. 

“Mmm, you mean the isolated incident?” he corrects, rolling his head on his shoulders to look at you. 

You scoff and shake your head, “Wow. Yeah, isolated. Sure. Just a mistake, right?” 

He searches your face, watching your eyes go dim and your jaw clench, and furrows his brow, “N-no, that’s not—“

You clamp your lips closed with your teeth, like you’re holding yourself back, then open your mouth anyway, “That’s what you tell her, though, right?” you blink, “It was a mistake, it meant nothing to you, it’ll never happen again, blah blah blah?”

His jaw hangs slack and throat croaks as he tries to yield some kind of truth that will both spare your feelings and help him evade scrutiny, “I’m—sorry.”

It’s all he can come up with. 

You roll your eyes and sigh, then mutter, “Whatever,” before turning your attention back to the TV. 

The silence that settles is tense. It writhes beneath his skin and trickles into his stomach, twisting it into knots. 

You start to wriggle in your seat, like it’s bothering you, too. He can feel a jagged energy rolling off your body, and, predictably, you break. 

“If you ever want things to actually work with her, you’re going to have to come clean,” you huff, then glare at him, “You know that right? That you can’t just lie to her forever? There’s no way she fucking believes you.”

Frankie sighs, picking his hat off his head to run a hand through his hair, “Can we not?”

“Sure, we can just not,” you snip and sit up straight, crossing your arms across your chest, “We can just pretend things are cool and groovy and you can get your life back and I can fuck off into oblivion.” 

“Jesus Christ—”

“Well, fuck, that’s what you want, right, Frankie?” you stare at him, “You’ll be nice to me while you’re here, and cuddle with me, and hold my hand, and what the fuck ever, but when this arrangement is over, then what?”

“I don’t fucking know, ok?!” he snaps, then stands and starts pacing the living room, shaking his head, “I don’t know if—if I’m going to fucking prison, or if I’m going to lose my job, or if my wife will fucking divorce me and take my daughter away—”

Frankie stops and turns away from you, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. A few quiet seconds go by as he gathers himself and wrangles the burgeoning tears back into his skull. When he turns back around, he throws his hands out at his side, then lets them fall loose, “I don’t know what anything will look like after this,” he meets your glossy eyes, all wide and pained, and tells you in a hoarse, shaky voice, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a fucking asshole to you for so long. I lied to you. I pushed you away. I fucking—I fucking hurt you and I understand that.”

He takes a few steps forward. Your eyes, pooling with tears, stay glued his, following seamlessly when he crouches down in front of you and pleads, “I’m trying to be better, I swear to god I’m fucking trying. I—I care about you a lot. And I’m sorry I can’t give you a better answer for what you and me will look like after this ‘situation’ is over with, because I have no fucking clue what anything will look like.” 

You swallow hard and nod, then drop your gaze as your face crumbles. A sob bubbles up your throat and quickly devolves into a coughing fit. 

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters, glancing around. He spots your inhaler on the coffee table and hands it to you, “Need this?”

You take it and inhale a few puffs of albuterol. When your breathing evens out, blink the tears from your eyes and croak out, “Sorry.” 

He reaches up and smudges a fat, swollen tear on your cheek with his thumb, “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

A pained expression crosses your face. You lean away from his touch, so he sits down beside you as you exhale a thick sigh and look around the room.

“I understand why you wouldn’t tell Angie everything. I just—” one of your cheeks pulls in like you’re gnawing at the inside. You release it and tell him, “I just hate the idea of you saying we were a mistake. I don’t know. Is that dumb?” 

Your eyes flick to his and they’re so sincere, his stomach flips upside down. He shakes his head, “No, that’s not dumb.” 

“Ok,” you sniffle, nodding as you look at the TV, “Ok.”

A minute goes by, each second amplifying the buzz beneath his skin. He looks over and realizes you’re squished against the armrest of the couch, curled up in a tense knot of limbs, brow furrowed, biting at your lip. 

“Hey,” he coos, beckoning you closer, “Come here.”

You give him this kind of pathetic, kind of cute pout, but accept the invitation. As he wraps an arm around your shoulders, you drape your legs across his lap, rest your head in the crook of his neck. He lays his cheek on the crown of your head and tucks you into an embrace. 

Maybe it’s one-sided, but Frankie feels heat humming between your bodies. 

The floral, minty scent of your hair, mixing with the musk of your soft skin, all dewy from humidity. Your breath rolling hot across the column of his throat. 

You wriggle closer, and the weight of your body settles between his legs. Presses firm down on his half-hard cock. 

His insides twist with a nagging, all-consuming want. The kind that usually fogs his brain when he thinks about booze. It claws at him like an animal caged within his ribs. Teeth bared, ferocious, growing: I need her I need her I need her

In the same cadence it always howls: I need a drink I need a drink I need a drink

The tips of his fingers scrape against your shoulder. A little whimper sneaks out your throat and drips down his spine. Your muscles shift and he can feel your lips hovering over his thudding pulse. 

This is dangerous. This is a line. A tightrope teetering beneath the soles of his feet. 

You breathe his name and it grazes his neck. His body surges with desire, cock throbbing, and he’s unable to stop the whine that croaks out his lips. 

He looks down at you, meeting your darkened, heavy-lidded gaze. You study each other, but neither of you move, despite the palpable current of electricity between you. 

“I—I should go to bed,” you whisper with little conviction, eyes darting to his mouth.

“It’s still light out,” he says, brushing the back of his hand against your cheek. 

You shiver and your lips part, panting, “I need to clear my head—I’m… not thinking right.”

Frankie imagines you clearing your head in your bedroom with the door closed. Your fingers working between your legs, eyes pinched closed while you flip through the mental catalogue of all the times he’s fucked you. 

“Can I come with you?” he asks, voice ragged, “I won’t—I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

You search his face, brows pushing together, and nod. 

This is stupid. 

You both know it. 

But he follows you to your room and closes the door behind him. 

Sinks into your bed as you lay out on the other side. 

You start slow, hands roaming the curves of your body. Over your tight tank top, no bra underneath, just the clear outline of your nipples. Along the middle of those little cotton sleep shorts he likes so much. 

He keeps his distance, blood pounding thick in his skull, as you ruck your shirt up your chest and roll a hardened bud between your fingers. You whimper and bite down on your bottom lip, eyes locking to his as your other hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts. 

In his periphery, he can see the outline of your wrist flicking under the fabric, but he can’t part his eyes from yours. It’s entrancing. Your mouth opens in a moan, lips pouting out into a whimper as you start to gain traction. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, pushing his palm against his swollen length trapped within the confines of his jeans, begging for attention. He unbuckles his belt and tugs his pants off. At the same time, you pull your shorts down. Some sort of silent trade agreement.

Frankie wraps his hand around his cock and drags his grip down, pulling the sensitive, aching skin taught. His palm is dry and rough as he starts to rut up and down, but the friction gives his touch an edge that makes him shiver. 

You’re watching him do this while you trail your fingertips along the shiny ridges of your sex. Saliva pools in his mouth when he remembers what you taste like. Imagines his tongue tracing the soft folds of you.

Your hips buck and you whimper when you touch your clit. You roll the pads of your fingers against the engorged bundle of nerves, eyelids fluttering as you work yourself. 

You both find a steady rhythm, panting and whining, glancing between each other's legs, hands, eyes. The increasingly frantic movements make your bed squeak. 

The two of you are so lost in the haze of pleasure, Frankie knows either of you could suggest physical contact between your bodies and the other would immediately say yes, but this fucked up little loophole has you both blissfully dangling on the precipice. 

He’s trying to keep his commentary to a minimum, but you’re driving him fucking crazy. 

Your blown-out pupils watching him fuck his hand. The sheen of sweat lacing your skin. A thick, gleaming layer of arousal coating your pussy and fingers. He wants to lick it off of you, taste you, drive his cock inside you and feel that divine squeeze. 

As his heartbeat starts to gallop and the fire in his belly laps its way up his spine, he pants, “You’re so fucking hot, holy shit—do you like this? Like me watching you get off?”

“Yes,” you gasp, meeting his gaze, working yourself faster, “I do, Frankie, I like it.”

His name on your lips is like an electric jolt to his insides. He groans, “Say my name again.”

“Frankie,” you whimper. 

A wave of heat washes over him, “Fuck yes, that’s so fucking good, baby—say it again—”

“Frankie,” you moan, sinking two fingers into your cunt, a sick wet sound squelching out as you start to fuck yourself. 

“Such a good girl, holy fuck, that’s it,” he grunts, pumping himself faster, lightning churning in his belly, “Gonna make yourself cum, sweet girl?”

You nod feverishly, face pinched up with pleasure, hips arching into your touch, “Frankie—fuck fuck fuck—”

“There we go, baby, you can do it,” he rasps, and watches as your movements come to a fever pitch, then your body starts to shudder and you belt out this strangled moan that pushes him over the edge. 

Pleasure ripples through him and he grinds his fist down a few more times, pulsing his load all over his hand, across the bedding, a few splatters reaching your hip. He groans and slows.

His muscles start to melt. He throws his head back into the pillow, then rolls his head on his shoulders to look at you. 

Your chest is heaving and you’re all blissed out, a hazy smile on your lips. 

“You’re not gonna freak out, now, are you?” he pants, searching your face. He reaches over and gives you a playful poke to show he’s only half-joking. 

You meet his eyes smirking for a beat before you chuckle, “I don’t think so, but—could you get my, umm—inhaler?”

“Yeah,” he nods and rolls off the bed. 

When Frankie returns, you’re pulling your shirt down over your tits and propping yourself up on some pillows. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, then take it from him and inhale a few puffs. 

“You ok?” he asks as he rolls onto the bed next to you, wrestling a pillow under his chest. 

A coy smile plays on your lips when you glance over at him, shaking your head, “This was really dumb.”

He chuckles and shrugs, “Probably.” 

“Fuck,” you giggle, burying your face in your hands, “Frankie, why did we do that?”

“Because we’re big dumb idiots?” he laughs. 

“Speak for yourself,” you snort, curling up on your side to face him. 

“Sure, yeah, of course. You’re super smart,” he teases, pointing between him and you, “This is definitely something that smart people do.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you push his shoulder weakly. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you say, “We’re never going to speak of this again, are we?” 

He opens his mouth to make a joke and attempt to sweep it all under the rug, but stops when he realizes it probably warrants a conversation. 

“Do—is that what you wanna do?” he asks instead, stammering, “Because we can, you know, talk about it if you want to.“

“I don’t know what I want,” you sigh, your face folding into a thoughtful expression. A few moments pass, then your eyebrows shoot up and you look at him, “Ok, this is a weird time to ask this, but, I meant to ask you earlier and forgot.”

He nods, “Shoot.”

“My sister is getting married over Labor Day weekend, and because I’m her bridesmaid and family and blah blah blah, she wants me to go stay out there for the week, and umm, I don’t know how that works with your parole and stuff—”

“Do you want me to ask Ralph tomorrow?” 

“Well, yeah,” you meet his eyes, “But—but also, can you come with me?”

It takes a moment for Frankie to register the question, and when he understands, his mind starts whirring with uncertainty. Angie. Court. Ralph. Sarah. Prison. 

“Not, like, as my date or whatever,” you add, waving your hand around nervously as you explain, “I just–I haven’t been home in years because my family is the worst and I—” you sigh, face pinching up as you admit, “I could use a friend.” 

That makes up his mind. 

“Yeah,” he answers, “Yeah, as long as I’m not in fucking jail by then, I’ll make it work. Let me… let me talk to work and Ralph, see what I can do.” 

You give him a restrained smile and say, “Thank you.” 

After the two of you decide to get dressed and watch a movie, he goes into his bedroom to change into a pair of basketball shorts, while you supervise a packet of popcorn in the microwave. Giving his closed door a quick glance, he pulls the bundle of soft teal lace out of his pocket and opens a dresser drawer to tuck them away, but pauses when his thumb grazes something damp. 

His brows furrow, then shoot up as he unfolds the underwear and recognizes the slick substance coating them. He brings the fabric to his nose and inhales, confirming his suspicion. 

You must have noticed them when he was getting your inhaler. And rather than taking the panties back, or saying anything to him, you cleaned your arousal off and replaced them. 

He grins at the present, because that’s what it is, really, then shoves the lace into his dresser drawer. 

“Daddy, look, that’s Mumble,” Sarah tells Frankie, pointing one chubby, blueberry-stained finger at a plastic baby emperor penguin. 

Her collection of penguins is lined up on the edge of the dining room table, in order of smallest to biggest. She wriggles around on his lap, looking up at him with those big brown eyes, waiting for acknowledgement. 

“That one does look like Mumble,” he agrees emphatically, “What kind of penguin is he?” 

“A empreror penguin!” she beams, throwing her hands in the air. 

“That’s right,” he chuckles, “An emperor penguin! How many penguins do you have?”

Sarah’s eyes light up at the exciting new challenge, and she turns her attention to the plastic figurine lineup, counting each one out loud. 

Frankie glances across the table at Angie. She‘s glaring out the window, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Ang,” he rumbles, but she doesn’t respond. A hot wave of frustration weaves through his muscles and pulls them taught. His nostrils flare and he shakes his head, muttering, “Whatever.”

The dining room chair scrapes against the floor as she pushes it out and stomps out of the room, down the stairs like a petulant child. 

Sarah stops counting and tells him, “Mommy’s mad.”

He chuckles softly at this and nods, “Yeah, I think so. I’m gonna go talk to her, ok, sweetie?”

Sarah resumes her counting when Frankie stands and sets her in the chair. He finds Angie in the laundry room, folding clothes with sharp, agitated movements. 

“Can we talk about this?” he asks. She doesn’t acknowledge him, so he continues, “Angelica. Come on. You haven’t said a word to me since I texted you on Saturday. Please, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“The fact that you don’t know what’s wrong is exactly what’s fucking wrong, Francisco,” she growls.

He sighs and steps closer, leaning one hip against the washer, “As much as I would love to be able to, I can’t read your mind. So if you could help me out, maybe give me a clue—”

“Do you need me to spell it out for you?” she snaps, tossing the small pink t-shirt in her hands into a laundry basket.

His head jerks back and he scoffs, “Sure.”

“You passed up time with your wife and daughter to be with your fucking mistress,” she blinks, then throws her hands up in the air, “Is it really so fucking inconceivable that I’m mad about that?” 

“First of all, she’s not my mistress,” Frankie asserts, crossing his arms, “Second, she almost fucking died, Ang, I couldn’t just leave her alone in the hospital.” 

“So, what, she didn’t have anyone else that could come sit with her in the hospital?” Angie snorts, raising an eyebrow, “I was about to say she’s a grown woman, she can take care of herself, but,” she sucks on her teeth and flashes him a faux sympathetic smile, “That’s barely true, isn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, rolling his eyes, then stares at her, “You know that’s not true, and—and no, ok? She didn’t have anyone else to sit at the hospital with her. None of her family made it out, she doesn’t have any friends. Her boyfriend didn’t even come to visit, so,” he pushes off the washing machine and pinches the bridge of his nose, then drops his hand and lies, “I felt fucking bad for her, that’s all. She couldn’t breathe and was all sick and shit, and nobody cared enough to visit her. It was, I don’t know, it was sad and I felt shitty about leaving.”

She seems to consider this, then gives a little shrug, “That is kind of sad.”

He nods, searching her face, dark eyebrows all scrunched together in contemplation. 

“She has a boyfriend?”

He nods, “Yeah. They’ve been together for a while.”

Not exactly a lie, but he can tell a little truth stretching will bring this conversation to a more comfortable place. 

“I missed you,” he says in a pleading tone, meeting her eyes, hoping she buys it. 

She sighs, “I missed you too.”

The glint in her eyes tells him it’s safe to approach, so he does. He presses his lips against her forehead, closing his eyes as he murmurs, “I love you.”

When Frankie gets home, you and Rory are sitting on the couch watching a movie together. His arm is draped over your shoulders and you’re huddled in his lap, head on his chest. 

It reminds him of how the two of you are when no one else is around. 

His blood pressure spikes and heats his veins. You perk up as you notice him, putting space between your body and Rory’s. A nervous smile spreads across your face. He doesn’t return the smile, just nods in greeting as he closes the door behind him, “Hey.”

Rory looks him up and down, then turns back to the TV. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” you ask. 

Frankie frowns and shrugs, “Fine. What’re you guys watching?”

Your phone starts ringing before you can answer. You sit up and grab it off the coffee table, muttering, “It’s my sister, I’ll be right back,” then tiptoe through the house to your bedroom, leaving him and Rory alone. 

Frankie steps on the heel of his boot and starts to wriggle his foot free. 

“Hey, man, I wanted to tell you—thanks for looking after her last weekend.”

Frankie glances up at Rory as he kicks one boot off, then the other, “Sure, yeah,” then starts off towards his room. Rory keeps talking, though, so he pauses. 

“When she didn’t respond to me for a day I figured, ya know…” he shrugs, staring at him. 

Frankie frowns and shakes his head, “Figured what?”

“Figured she ran off with you, man,” he chuckles, but his eyes aren’t smiling. They’re studying. 

Frankie snorts and brings his hands to his hips, “What, really?”

Rory stands and saunters over, looking the way you left to make sure you’re still occupied, then tucks his hands in the front of his jean pockets and shrugs again, “Seems like y’all are pretty close. She doesn’t really like to talk about you. Kinda weird for someone who’s supposedly a friend.”

What kind of macho man bullshit is this? Is he… flexing? 

“Yeah, she’s pretty private,” Frankie searches the other man’s face. 

“Y’all ever fuck around?” he asks. 

Frankie jerks his head back and frowns, “Uhh, sorry, what?”

Rory doesn’t say anything, just lets the air between them grow more hostile, flicking his eyes around Frankie’s face like a challenge. One that he’s not fucking interested in taking. Christ, what a fucking mess that would be. 

Frankie scoffs and shakes his head, “No, we don’t fuck around. We’re friends. Ok?” He holds his hands up and tries to soften his face, “So, take it easy, she’s all yours.” 

Rory seems to relax a little, then says, “Alright.”

“Alright,” Frankie chuckles with amusement, “We good?” 

“Yeah,” Rory grins, offering a clenched fist to Frankie, “Sorry, man.” 

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” he bumps knuckles with the meathead and tells him, “You two have a good time, alright?”

Frankie retreats to his room and locks the door behind him. 

Every muscle in his body starts to deflate. 

His thoughts are fuzzy and loud. 

He starts for his bed, but pauses, and turns instead to the dresser, thinking of that teal lace. 

Today is one of those rare July days where it’s not just tolerable to be outside, it’s actually enjoyable. 

A slight breeze rustles the palm fronds above. The sun kisses Frankie’s skin. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of a neighbor’s charcoal grill. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He cracks an eye open to find you standing over where he’s laying in the hammock and grins innocently, “What?”

“WhAt?” you mock him and snort, but pull up a chair and drop your little wicker basket in its seat, warning, “Ok, well, you’re sharing the hammock, at least.” 

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” he tucks a hand behind his head and watches you roll into the hammock facing him.

You wriggle around for an entire minute, and when he starts to giggle at your restlessness, you whine, “Oh my god, scoot over.”

“Here,” he murmurs, shifting his weight so you lay roughly hip to hip, hooking one arm under your legs, “Better?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. Your body calms. 

Then it’s quiet. 

And the silence isn’t anything but peaceful, really. 

“This is good,” you say eventually. 

He’s not sure what this you’re referring to, but he agrees, “Yeah.”

You point to the sky, “That cloud looks like a gator.”

Frankie squints upward, examining the fluffy cotton balls hanging in the electric blue atmosphere, “That one looks like a cloud.”

A snort erupts from your face and you lay a playful smack on his thigh, “Oh, come on, use your imagination!”

“Ok, let’s see,” he clears his throat and tilts the bill of his hat back to take in more of the view. Then one catches his eye. He points to it, “Butterfly.”

You follow his direction and murmur, “Oh yeah, look at that. Neat.” 

He studies it for a while, watching the two wings tumble and morph as it moves across the sky, until it’s just another nondescript cumulus cloud. Then he turns his attention to the basket you brought outside. 

The hammock wobbles in protest when he sits up and lays it across the middle ground of your bodies. Frankie surveys the contents of the shallow wicker basket: a baguette; a dish of soft, white cheese with a little spatula-like knife sticking out the center; a bowl of red grapes and sliced strawberries; a couple of mandarin oranges. 

He rips off a piece of bread and spreads some cheese across the soft inside, then sits back and takes a bite. You do the same, topping the cheese with some strawberries. As the two of you eat in a content silence, looking up at the sky, Frankie starts to ruminate on the confrontation that is surely lingering on the tip of your tongue. 

Neither of you have dared to mention how you got off together in your bed. Surprisingly, it hasn’t changed the energy between him and you. But he’s found himself wondering if he’s just oblivious and unable to sense your disquiet, like he has in the past. 

And now, since it’s Family Dinner, State of the Union, or whatever Ralph calls it, he braces himself for impact.

“Alright, let me have it,” he says after he finishes his second chunk of bread, nerves getting the best of him, “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

The hammock shifts unsteadily as you sit up and put the basket back on the chair, then you lay back and stretch out, releasing a heavy sigh, “Honestly… I kind of don’t know what to say about it. I—I don’t know. I don’t feel different or have any kind of strong feelings about what happened.”

Frankie hums and looks over at you, watching your serene, skyward face. 

“What about you? How do you feel?” you ask, leveling your gaze with his. 

“I feel… the same,” he answers, frowning, “Like I should have a strong feeling, but I—I just don’t?” 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, shrugging, “Well, I don’t know, should we just… leave it?” 

Relief washes over him and he nods, “I’m ok with that if you are.”

“Ok,” you grin, then look back up at the sky, “Anything else you need to get off your chest?” 

Frankie rifles through his brain, pausing to think about Rory and the odd confrontation that happened the other day. It left a bad taste in his mouth. But, he shakes his head, “No. You?” 

“I can’t think of anything.” 

“Alright,” he inhales the blissful breeze that tickles his sun-warmed skin, then exhales, repeating your earlier sentiment, “This is good.”

[ Next Chapter ]

#designated person #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales angst #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal

[futurecorps3]

Hi!! Wanted to drop by and say that I love your fics and how you write! I saw that you're taking requests for nikolai and I'm so in the mood for some angst with him after watching season two. So I have this idea where the reader is taken by the darkling as leverage against nikolai (maybe she was one of his grishas before or not) and she tries to escape or something, but nikolai saves her.

Thank you in advance and hope you stay hidrated and happy! 💗

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞

Masterlist<3

Summary: Nikolai is sure he's never been this empty. Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x fem!reader Warnings: Kidnapping, blood mentions, Nikolai being sad and a bitch to everyone but it's okay bc he's going through something, kinda show!Nikolai for a tiny little second Word Count: 3.2K Requested: Yes

A/N: I added a bit of angsty spice because I'm a SLUT for that good Nikolai hurt/comfort. Sorry for the delay my love and tysm for requesting!!!<3 Hope u like it.

˚ · • . ° .

He wasn't sure how it all came to be. Moments like these made Nikolai realize he was a boy born with tragedy knitted on his skin and calamity running through his blood. His light. His queen. His love. His everything. Kirigan took everything from him.

When in war, everyone knew disastrous things could happen with every coming sunrise. In this specific war, you could wake up with the news that the fold had swallowed the nearest city to yours, or be in the city that was swallowed. Maybe grishas working with the Darkling burnt your house to the ground overnight. Maybe you didn't wake up at all.

The king was aware of the madness going on outside the spinning wheel's walls and all over the country. Kirigan and his army had the upper hand and grew bolder with time, but that wouldn't last, Nikolai was sure of it.

Until they took Y/N.

Not a single guard or grisha seemed to be aware of the enemy taking the one person most precious to the king. She vanished, and he blamed himself. If he hadn't been so stubborn and listened to her, he would've been there.

"There is no clue on where she might be" Zoya asserted, exasperated and scared for her best friend. Saints knew where she was. Tired of seeing Nikolai sitting with a heavy head and puffy eyes trying to work out a way to find his lover. "Time is a crucial matter on these things. But being out there would be a risk. For everyone here." Said Genya, who was standing next to David.

"I can't stand sitting here doing absolutely nothing when she's out there, Genya. Let me go out, it's been three days since t-they..." he couldn't say it. In the past hours, he realized acknowledging the fact Y/N was gone only made his mind run wild over the events that transpired the last time they were together.

Y/N paced back and forth in the grand hall of the royal palace, her heart racing with anger. Nikolai stood in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression cold and distant. They had been going back on forth for about an hour now, exhausted, but neither of them would give in.

"You're not even listening to me, Nikolai! This is important," Y/N said, her voice rising in frustration. "I am listening, Y/N. I just don't agree with you," Nikolai replied, his tone clipped and dismissive. He came up with a plan to ambush Kirigan, one Y/N considered being ruthless; they knew for a fact he was expanding the fold over some little farmer's village and he wanted to let him just so they could enter to fold and Alina could work her powers out.

The young king was sure that if they were quick enough, the habitants wouldn't immediately turn into Volcra. Still, it was risky and very thoughtless. If it didn't work, hundreds of people would die, which was the last thing the nation needed. Y/N shook her head, her hands balling into fists at her sides. She couldn't believe Nikolai was being so stubborn at a matter like this.

"I can't do this, Nikolai. What if it doesn't work? W-will you be able to live with that in your conscience?" Y/N said, her voice trembling with emotion. Nikolai didn't say a thing, his expression still gone. Y/N took a step back, disappointed.

He knew it was not an easy decision, and had been pondering it for a long time before voicing it to his love. Nikolai, too, battled himself in the classic dilemma he found himself in; was he willing to sacrifice hundreds of people to end a war that had started far before he was even born?

"Y/N, do you think I don't care? It's hard, but it has to be done. Everyone agrees. We'll do our best to get them out of there, but if it doesn't work, they won't die in vain. This could be our one chance to save Ravka," He said, his voice somehow hurt but firm. And with that, Y/N turned on her heel and stormed out of the grand hall, her footsteps echoing off the marble floors.

As she walked through the palace corridors, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of anger and disappointment that lingered within her. She had always known that she and Nikolai had different opinions on certain matters, but she had never thought it would come to this.

The days preceding the supposed attack were filled with quiet meals, nights sleeping with backs facing each other, and no kisses. Alina and the other grishas knew what was off between the couple, but figured that if someone made even the slightest comment, Nikolai would decide against what needed to be done.

Last thing she said to him was an apathetic "Take care, don't be reckless". Y/N was worried for him but still angry and a bit shocked at them actually risking the lives of breathing, sentient people because of this stupid war. She knew it was a good plan, but either way, lives were to be lost. Nikolai nodded and turned around, mounted his horse and rode down along the other grisha to the border where Kirigan was.

Or was supposed to be.

They waited for hours, even remained hidden for quite some time, and there was no sign of Kirigan. Zoya insisted, against Alina's wishes, to go back to the castle, and they did. They did and Y/N was gone. Maybe the Darkling was more clever than they thought; he figured out the way to weaken the king by taking everything he held dear.

He heard from a friend over in Ketterdam not to love anything, ever. That was his trick and the one thing that kept him alive in many situations while he was working his way up in gangs and gained street credit. He understood that when some minor range inferni approached him with a pale face and trembling hands, saying they had taken the queen and had absolutely no idea when or where.

The king had been too daft, too stubborn to even see through the trap they had set up. It all clicked in that moment, really. The intel on the attack came from an unreliable source, and the former general relied on Ravka's desperation on ending this war. Aleksander knew they'd take anything they could get. He outsmarted the most cunning grishas and royal individuals, hurting the king greatly.

Y/N's absence felt like a never-ending void, and he was plagued with visions of what could be happening to her. No matter how hard he tried to strategize, Nikolai felt helpless, as he didn't know where Y/N was or what the Darkling was doing to her. He ached to embrace her once more, to whisper comforting words in her ear and tell her how much he adored her.

His Y/N was a bold one, and he figured she was putting up quite a fight. He prayed to his saints for her to hold on, to wait and endure until he found where she was. Everyone was working full time, maps scattered in tables with discarded locations, search parties in the land... Nikolai knew this was the time of his ability to find quick solutions to shine. He was going to find her and kill that bastard.

˚ · • . ° .

"Will you stop that already?" Aleksander said exasperated, dodging yet another one of Y/N's blazes being thrown his way. She didn't reply. Hair messy with her gown in shreds inside a cage, all dirty with how much she had wrestled with Kirigan's crew on the way there. Truth is, she had no idea where she was. "He, for once, is right, child. Stop it or he'll put these things on you."

Baghra, in the cage next to her, showed her the iron shackles he had placed. "You'll get sick if you can't use your powers". Y/N sighed, annoyed at everything. She was not scared, not of some coward who caged his own mother out of fear. They were close friends before all of this. With her childhood best friend and boyfriend enlisted in the army, Y/N was left alone. Being one of the most talented Grisha of her age, it was only natural for Kirigan to notice her standing out.

She, of course, knew nothing about his plans and was grateful she had someone to laugh with. "Darling-" "Do not call me that" she spat "Y/N, you know this could've been easier if you allowed it. Your problem is you're too stubborn, too prideful, and way too enthralled by your prince to see clearly." "He's your king, Kirigan. And you're a murderer." Of course, he didn't see himself as such. Everyone with half a brain could see he really thought he was doing the right thing, even when that meant slaughtering countless amounts of people.

The man inhaled sharply and turned around, a certain dramatic flare in his kefta as he did so. Y/N knew he wouldn't dare to hurt her, he needed her alive. But being locked away from everything known in enemy lands was not exactly the ideal situation for her at the moment; even if she scaped she would have nowhere to go. The last conversation she had with Nikolai had been everything but pleasant, and truth be told, she was worried he was worried.

She felt a bit remorseful, her words shot to kill when mad and her soon to be husband's indifference against the fierce words made her even madder, so seeing the situation at hand coolly was not an option when they argued. Also, she knew him well and Nikolai could be too hard on himself most of the time; the speech he was giving himself in that very moment was clear for Y/N.

He most likely was overwhelmed by feelings of guilt, and his head was filled with mean words, whispering that he had been the cause of all this, and that if he had just paid attention, she'd still be there. Of course, there was no way she could ever blame him for the kidnapping/becoming a forceful guest of some lovely little house on the hill, but he could. The demons could be very mean fuckers to the puppy king prince.

That night, Y/N fell asleep on the piles of blankets thinking of those blue eyes. Those blue eyes in the time they spent at sea together. Sunlight danced upon their iridescent sea, unveiling a symphony of hues with delicate glee. Celestial eyes, a glimpse of heaven's embrace, where mysteries and magic interlace. Where she found a place to be.

She hoped she could see them again soon.

˚ · • . ° .

Five days later, Nikolai made search parties go through the country to see if they could find something, anything, all a desperate measure he never thought would pay off. He was wrong.

"We found Kirigan" were the only words Zoya said, already in her kefta ready to head out. Those simple three words had the king sobering up, getting up from his seat as he felt the numbness of his body leave eagerly. Less than fifteen minutes after, he was outside the castle commanding very small teams of grisha with different tasks. There was no need to get there with the manpower they had a few days back in the fold's border. There was one singular purpose that day; getting Y/N out of there.

Nikolai's mind raced, strategizing and planning, his thoughts a whirlwind of possibilities and contingencies. The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat echoed in his ears, a constant reminder of the stakes at hand. Yet, amid the chaos of his emotions, a flicker of hope burned within him. It was the unwavering belief that he and Y/N shared a love strong enough to defy any darkness, a love that would guide him through the treacherous task ahead.

Alina stood at the edge of the hill, her gaze fixed on the horizon where Nikolai and his small army disappeared into the distance. A knot of admiration swelled in her chest as she watched his retreating figure, the determination evident in every stride. Beside her, Mal followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight. "That man's love for Y/N is unparalleled," he remarked, his voice filled with awe. "I've never seen someone fight so fiercely for another person."

Alina nodded, a wistful smile playing on her lips. "It's true. Nikolai's devotion knows no bounds. He'd move mountains, cross oceans, and face the darkest of enemies for Y/N's sake." Mal's gaze softened as he glanced at Alina, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. "Just like we would for each other." She met his gaze, a tender warmth filling her eyes. "Yes, just like us."

The wind rustled through the grass, carrying with it a sense of anticipation and hope. Alina's gaze lingered on the distant figure of Nikolai, his silhouette a testament to his unwavering resolve. "Do you remember when we first met Nikolai?" Alina asked, her voice carrying a hint of fondness. Mal chuckled softly, a reminiscent glimmer in his eyes. "How could I forget? He was all charm and wit, always scheming, but with a heart that burned fiercely for his people. And for Y/N."

"He's always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve," Alina mused. "But it's during times like these, when the stakes are high, that you truly see the depth of his love." Mal's gaze shifted back to the horizon, his voice carrying a note of admiration. "He's willing to risk everything, including his own life, for Y/N. It's a rare and beautiful thing."

Alina's voice grew quiet as she added, "We're fortunate to have witnessed such love. It's a reminder of what we fight for." Silence enveloped them as they stood together, their hearts swelling with appreciation for the love that bound them all. In the distance, the sun began its descent, casting a golden, almost hopeful hue upon the land.

˚ · • . ° .

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the land, Nikolai and his small, stealthy army approached the Darkling's stronghold. Their destination was a grand, two-story manor nestled within the heart of enemy territory. The imposing structure loomed before them, its dark façade a testament to the malevolence that lay within.

Nikolai's heart pounded in his chest as they neared the manor, his thoughts consumed by the image of Y/N trapped within its walls. The manor stood as a symbol of their separation, a barrier between them that he was determined to breach. The double doors of the building loomed large, promising the secrets and dangers that lay beyond. Nikolai turned to his loyal companions, his voice steady but laced with urgency.

"We enter quietly," Nikolai whispered, his words carried on a whispering breeze. "Our goal is to locate Y/N and bring her out unseen. Remain vigilant and stay close." The members of his small army nodded, their eyes gleaming with a shared resolve. They understood the magnitude of their mission and the risks involved.

With a nod from Nikolai, they entered the manor, their footsteps silent against the marble floors of the grand foyer. The opulence of the surroundings contrasted starkly with the tension that filled the air. Paintings adorned the walls, and ornate chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, casting a dim glow that danced with the shadows.

Distant footsteps could be heard, a day over for all the grishas on Kirigan's side. No one on sight downstairs, but, ever the paranoid, Nikolai made the five soldiers who accompanied him inside stay behind. It was easier, safer, if he wen't by himself upstairs.

He ascended a grand staircase, each step careful and deliberate, his senses heightened. The second floor held a maze of hallways and rooms, potential hiding places where Y/N might be held captive. His path was shrouded in uncertainty, but Nikolai's determination remained unwavering.

As he crept along the hallway, doors lined each side, concealing the secrets within, avoiding any wandering person in the hallways. The air was thick with anticipation, the silence broken only by the soft creaking of the wooden floorboards beneath their feet.

Nikolai pressed his ear against a closed door, straining to catch any sounds that might indicate Y/N's presence. A faint, muffled whimper reached his ears, and his heart clenched. It was the sound he had been longing to hear, the confirmation that Y/N was indeed within the manor. With practiced precision, Nikolai picked the lock, his hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The door swung open, revealing a dimly lit room. Y/N was there, her weary form huddled in the corner of a cage, her eyes widening with hope at the sight of Nikolai. The room itself was sparse, lacking the opulence that adorned the rest of the manor. It was a stark contrast, a symbol of the darkness that had enveloped Y/N's captivity next to a sick looking Baghra.

"Oh darling" she whispered, melting the lock that had kept her there for days. The door fell open, and as Nikolai's arms wrapped around Y/N, a surge of emotions washed over both of them. The weight of their separation, the fear and uncertainty that had gripped their hearts, all dissipated in that single embrace. Time seemed to stand still as they held each other, finding solace and strength in each other's presence.

Y/N's body melted into Nikolai's, her fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket, as if she couldn't bear to let go. She buried her face in his chest, inhaling his familiar musky scent, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her cheek. A rush of relief flooded through her, knowing that she was finally safe in his arms.

Nikolai's hold tightened around Y/N, his voice a gentle whisper in her ear. "I thought I lost you," he confessed, his words laced with a mix of vulnerability and profound love. "But I will always find my way back to you, no matter the cost." Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as she looked up at Nikolai, her gaze filled with gratitude and devotion. "I never doubted you," she replied, her voice filled with unwavering trust.

"We're getting you out of here," Nikolai whispered, his voice filled with determination and love. Together, they left the room, their steps light as they navigated the labyrinthine hallways of the manor. Each turn brought them closer to the freedom that awaited beyond its walls. Nikolai's small army, now positioned strategically throughout the manor, provided cover and ensured their path remained clear.

As they emerged from the grand entrance of the place, relief washed over them. The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a gentle glow over their escape. Nikolai held Y/N close, their eyes meeting in a silent understanding. The grand, two-story manor now stood as a symbol of their victory, its walls unable to contain the power of their love and determination.

In that moment, as they left the manor behind, they knew that they had conquered not just the physical barriers but also the darkness that had threatened to tear them apart. Hand in hand, they embarked on a journey towards a future where their love would be the guiding light, ready to conquer this war and build a new world belonging to the both of them.

˚ · • . ° .

Hi! Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed:) Hey, that scape seemed a bit too easy... right? 👀

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[thatgoblin]

Summary: Two Weeks in and you're finding a rhythm of sorts with your new Alphas, but it's not without bumps.

Warnings: Some mild gendered harassment, but nothing too terrible.

~::~::~::~::~::~::~

It had been nearly two weeks since I’d come to live with John and Simon. In those two weeks we built a new routine around each other that had us dancing in sync as if we’d been living together for years. For them it might have been years, but throwing a new person into the mix would take time to get the rhythm going again with added steps. We were getting better each day though. 

It was the Sunday after the end of the second week when someone in a U-Haul drove up to the house. John had been able to contact my parents and was able to arrange for my things to be delivered. While my relationship with John and Simon was better than at the start of all of this, my relationship with my parents had crashed and burned. I still had not heard from them, via call or text or email or even snail mail, and the two men who moved my stuff across the state were old schoolmates of mine, the Walker brothers, Logan and David. 

Unfortunately. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” David, the blockier of the two, crowed as he saw me when I came out of the house. “When your parents said you went off and found yourself a pair of Alphas, I thought they had made it up just to save face.”

“I mean, half the town did anyways,” Logan, the other man that sported a crew cut, said with a chuckle. “At least now we know it’s mostly true.”

“Just shut up and unload the stuff,” I said with a sigh. There couldn’t be that much, I didn’t have a whole lot to begin with. John and Simon were out with the cattle, leaving me alone to scrub the house. I had gotten up early and began to deep clean despite them telling me I didn’t need to. The house was kept in good shape, but there were cobwebs and the floors needed mopping, not to mention the windows. I wasn’t usually such a neat freak, but something came over me and the need to clean the place was too strong to control. Simon said something about anxiety, but I wasn’t willing to look at the feeling too close, just cleaning to ease it.

“So rude still,” Logan said with a snort. “Thought your new Alphas would have taught you how to speak to others.”

“I know how to speak to people who respect me,” I hissed as David unlocked the back of the truck. “Just take the boxes to the living room and then you can go.”

“Oh, come on,” David cooed. “We’re just playing. It’s been a while since we last saw you, figured you’d have grown more into your sex rather than away from it.”

“Yeah,” Logan said as he grabbed a box from the back. “Last time we saw you, you were the only Omega to graduate high school and get any sort of college. But that didn’t last from what I heard.”

“Didn’t you get kicked out of the community college for assaulting a teacher?” David asked, moving past me and into the house. “Yeah I think you did. Didn’t you slug him when he offered a ‘special’ tutoring session? Pretty sure they had to call security to pull you off him.”

“Such a mean Omega,” Logan added as he passed by as well. “I’m surprised anyone wanted you. Your parents probably had to pay someone to take you.”

“You are all the way across the state, so I bet they didn’t tell your Alphas about how nasty an Omega you are,” David said, coming out to leer at me. 

“Just shut up and do your job. My parents didn’t pay you two needle dicks to jibber jabber like a couple of old bitties,” I snarled. My blood was boiling as I held back from throwing my fists at them. What the hell were my parents thinking in sending these assholes? Why couldn’t they have just sent a moving company? It wasn’t like I had furniture to move. Then again, my parents probably thought these two were cheaper and my resentment towards them grew.

“We’re not in school anymore,” David snapped, getting in my space. “You don’t get to get away with acting like an Alpha when you’re not one.”

“David, come on,” Logan said as he suddenly became nervous, glancing over his shoulder as I glared back at David, refusing to be cowed by him.  

“You know, you ought to have someone teach you how to address your superiors,” David growled, getting in my space more and more. “Omegas shouldn’t talk back to those above them.”

“And Alphas shouldn’t have to threaten anyone to get respect,” I snarled, not moving an inch. “You’re just a shitty guy who only knows how to get attention by being an asshole to everyone around you.”

“David, come on dude,” Logan said, pulling the other Alpha away and to the truck. “Let’s just get this shit unloaded.”

“Fine,” David growled as I stayed on the porch, glaring at them. I had been the only Omega at a rural school system and if I hadn’t been as tough and mean as I had been with everyone then I would have gotten hurt or worse. 

They finished moving the boxes as I saw John and Simon getting closer on horseback. I felt better knowing they were nearby with the other two still there. 

“You know, you’re lucky you got out of town,” David said he stopped in front of me. “You could have gotten sold to me instead,” he sneered.

“Fuck off,” I snapped, my fists clenched and aching to swing on him. “I didn’t get sold to anyone.” 

“That’s not what everyone in town is saying,” David said. “We heard you wouldn’t settle for anyone, that you were too wild. So your parents sold you to a couple of old Alphas to tame you. That they liked kinky things with Omega virgins.” Grabbing my wrist and pulling me close, he snickered in my ear as I struggled against him. He was all muscle from being on the football team back home to going straight into work at the mill tossing bags of feed. 

“Get off,” I growled, pushing back against him. Fuck, even with the work I’d been doing on my own farm and with my Alphas’ the asshole was strong. “You’re gross and never going to find anyone to like you, you fuckin’ has been!” 

“David!” Logan barked, trying to warn his brother, but it was too late. 

“Hey!” Simon snarled as he and John came running to the porch. This giant Grim Reaper looking man with black eye makeup and skeleton gloves must have looked terrifying as Logan stumbled back and David dropped my wrist. “Get your fuckin’ hands off her!” Simon didn’t even pause as he threw a punch, nailing David in the face. David was knocked on his ass, letting me go. While they all probably expected me to run and be comforted by my Alphas, I was trying to jump back on David. John had to catch me and pull me away as Simon dealt with them. 

“John, let me go!” I cried.

“No, you’re going to hurt someone or yourself,” he grunted, holding me tight around the middle. 

“I know you two were paid by her parents to deliver their stuff, but you can either get the fuck off of our property now or you’re going to wish you’d never taken this job,” Simon threatened, glaring at both the younger Alpha’s. David was holding a bloody nose and mouth as Logan looked on wide eyed. “Now!”

“Yes, sir!” Logan yelped as he grabbed David and all but ran to the truck. 

“Fuck off!” I yelled, flipping them the bird again as Logan backed the truck up then drove off down the long dirt road. 

“Love, calm down,” John said, finally letting me go. “You’re acting like a feral cat trying to fight everything.”

“You okay?” Simon asked, still tense and chest heaving from the adrenaline as he walked back over to us where we stood on the porch. He was frowning, even behind the mask I could tell, as he held out a hand to hover near me as he looked me over for any injuries. It was still giving me the space I needed while being concerned and showing it.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said with a huff as I was let go, smoothing down my clothes. “Just pissed cause they started shit.”

“You know them?” John asked as he moved over to look at John’s fist. 

“I went to school with them. They’re mad cause I never submitted to them or anyone, so they tried to start something when they thought no one was around,” I said, looking over to the Alphas’ as John carefully cradled Simon’s hand after taking his glove off. “Did you hurt yourself?” I asked, concerned as I got close to him as well, wanting to see the damage if there was any.

“It’ll take more than just a small swing to hurt me, Sweetheart,” Simon said with a chuckle. “So long as you’re fine.” He reached out, running a hand over my hair to smooth it down while also offering comfort, but I ducked away. I wasn’t ready for that much affection yet. The most we did was pat each other on the back and grooming or cuddling them at night when we slept, but that was it. 

“I’m good. I’m gonna go unpack my stuff in my room,” I said. “Thanks for the assist.” I didn’t want a discussion over what happened or about me ducking away. Not giving them the time to call after me, I instead walked into the house to begin moving my boxes. There were almost ten boxes, but they were all mostly full of books and art supplies. I had a desk in my room where I could set up a drawing corner, but I’d have to either see about building shelves or buying them. The down side, well one of many, of being an Omega was that I didn’t really earn any money. It had all been through my dad’s name or in my new case through John and Simon’s name. 

I’d have to ask them for the money to do it, but I wouldn’t. There would be a way to figure it out and it would just take time. So the books would just have to stay in the boxes stacked against the wall. Some of the boxes were clothes that I actually needed, like my coats and thicker pants and shirts. The rest of the boxes were just stuff that I didn’t even realize I had, like little knick knacks and trinkets I had made or collected over the years. John and Simon did help carry the boxes up the stairs, but I wanted to unpack them alone. It was my stuff and with having my own room, even if I didn’t sleep in it, I wanted to put things up my way. They let me be while they went outside, respecting my wishes. 

What I hadn’t planned on was getting choked up from the items I found that were packed in one particular box. It had to have been a mistake, an accidental box put onto the truck. The last box I looked into held things I had made for my parents in school. Small clay bowls, drawings in frames, certificates of achievement. Why did they send these? Why not keep them and hang them up like they had been when I lived there? I made these for them. I wanted them to have them, to show off and be proud of what I achieved. Why give them back?

A small paper cow, something small insignificant, was the straw on the camel’s back. While John and Simon were outside with the horses or working in the garden, I was in my room, crying over a paper cow I had made for my dad on Father’s day when I was 6. I had wanted to be a rancher just like him, to take over the ranch for him, but. . . I wasn’t what he wanted. I wasn’t what either of my parents wanted. 

I threw the cow onto the ground, stomping on it as tears fell down my face, cursing my parents. When I saw the cow had torn, I stopped in a panic. 

“No, no, no,” I whimpered, picking it up. It fit in my palm, but after the stomping it was crumbled and dirty with the head hanging on by a sliver of paper. “Fuck, why do I ruin things?”

“You don’t.” I looked up from hovering over the paper animal cradled in my hands to see John standing there with a furrowed brow. “You don’t ruin things.” Coming into the room, he looked at the paper cow before taking it gently from my hand. At my desk, he found tape to carefully wrap it up and fix it. “Here,” he said as he handed it back. 

“If I don’t ruin things, why did they leave me?” I asked softly, looking down at the cow back in my hands. Sitting on the bed, I kept my bleary vision on the paper in my hand. If I looked up at John I’d start sobbing. “They didn’t want me anymore because there’s something wrong with me.”

“There’s not a thing wrong with you, Darling,” John said, sitting right next to me, pushing our shoulders together. “They just don’t know how to treat someone like you.” 

“Someone like me? Who am I like!? Some freak of nature that doesn’t know how to act like the right gender!?” I cried as I stood up, shirking away from the touch before putting the cow on the desk safely away from my angry boots. “Someone who doesn’t know how to be a good mate?! Or-or someone who doesn’t know how to be a normal person!?”

“Hey,” John said softly, standing with me. “Shhh,” he hushed me, putting a hand on my shoulder and one on my face to force me to look at him. “What I mean is that they didn’t know how to treat someone who always had to be hard on the outside. You weren’t treated right by that place or them and they didn’t realize it or want to realize it. That’s their fault, not yours.” 

“No one wants me though, not for the right reasons,” I said, breaking down into the sobs I had been trying to avoid. “They had to pay for you to take me!” 

“They didn’t pay us,” John said, stroking my hair as he pulled me close. “They didn’t pay us a cent to take you. I promise. We wanted you because of who you are, not what you are.” I clung to John, gripping his shirt tight as I buried my face into his chest with heaving sobs. He didn’t leave or try to push me away, only held me and stroked my hair while whispering reassurances to me like I was Ollie after a long ride. While I probably would have been upset that he was using his horse voice on me if I was more aware, at that moment I appreciated it. I didn’t get that from my parents, the comforting touches as I cried over mean kids from school or a skinned knee from climbing trees. 

The affection and love that I should have gotten from them was given to me by Simon and John, even if it was only small touches and soft words. I didn’t know how to deal with it as it was so foreign to me. By the time that I had calmed down enough to hiccups with red, puffy eyes, Simon had come in from the garden and it was lunch time. John had me lay down with a cool, wet cloth over my face as he and Simon went about getting food for themselves. I imagined John explained what had happened because after I calmed down and felt more at ease, I was back to deep cleaning and rearranging. Simon came back in to give me a shoulder squeeze and tell me I was doing a good job, that he was proud of me. 

I started crying again at that, earning a panicked look from Simon. He quickly apologized and left, leaving me with my need to clean still there but more weepy. Finished with the house deep cleaning, supper was ready. John had made pizza from scratch and made sure to clean up as best he could as I had finished the kitchen earlier in the day. Showered first that night, I made sure the two men gave me their dirty clothes so I could get them in with the rest of the laundry later. 

When it was time to settle down for the night, in our usual spots on the couch in front of the TV, the Alphas took their usual spots while I surprised them. Instead of going to the floor next to Simon’s feet, I curled up against John on the couch, sitting between the two. Both looked at me wide eyed as I pressed to his side, even raising his arm myself to wrap around me. They didn’t say anything though, knowing I’d most likely growl and pull away. 

Maybe John was right. I was a feral cat. 

“Can we go to town tomorrow?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the TV. “I wanna get some shelves for my books or to get stuff to make shelves.” Also something new. I didn’t ask for anything. I didn’t take anything either. Unless I needed it, I didn’t bring it up. 

“I’m sure we can arrange that, Sweetheart,” John said as he rubbed my legs, his hand having found its way there. “What time do you wanna go?”

“After morning chores,” I said, looking at the two Alphas. “I can do some extra work to pay for them, if you want me to.”

“Don’t worry about a thing,” John said with a chuckle. “You want shelves, we’ll get you all the shelves you want.” He reached out again, like earlier in the day, to stroke my hair. This time I didn’t pull away. I leaned into it even, practically purring. The rest of the night was spent like that. Curled up against one another till it was time for bed, only moving to continue holding one another under the covers. 

The next morning, I was thrumming with excitement. While John and Simon went about their normal speeds of getting up and having their coffee, I was already dressed and making breakfast. They didn’t hide the smiles on their faces as they watched me buzz around like a hummingbird. It was the first time I’d been excited for something since I’d arrived at the ranch. For shelves no less. 

When morning chores were done and everyone had washed up, I was already in the big pick up truck waiting. “Come on, boys! We’re burning daylight!” I called, giving a few honks. 

“It’s 9 AM! We’ve got plenty of time to go by the store,” John called back from the porch as Simon laughed. 

“You don’t know that! There could be a major shortage of shelves!” I said as they walked over. John shooed me to the middle as he got in the driver’s seat and Simon got in the passenger side. It would also be my first trip to town. All I knew of it was that it was small like my hometown and was probably almost the same, just in a different configuration. The drive there wasn’t short, almost half an hour, but it didn’t kill my mood. In fact, I was still bouncing in my seat as John parked in front of a small furniture store. 

“Now, just keep calm and hold one of our hands at all times,” John said as he helped me from the truck.

“Wait what?” I asked. The calm part I could get, but holding a hand? 

“They’re older folks and it’s just easier to let them die with their ways instead of fighting with them,” Simon said, his gloved fingers weaving with mine as he stepped next to me. “We’ll get your shelves, don’t worry about that.”

“Okay. . . I guess,” I said. Holding Simon’s hand, we walked into the store to begin looking around. It was full of nice things, maybe a bit dated, but nice. I didn’t want anything too heavy or too expensive, just something to hold books. 

“Howdy folks! What can I do ya for?” An older man asked, seemingly coming from nowhere. It spooked me enough I ran into Simon when the balding man spoke up. Simon chuckled softly, keeping me on my feet and from crashing into anything else.

“Hello,” John said with a wave. “We’re looking for a couple of shelves.”

“Three sets,” I said, but didn’t get too excited. I was actually trying to listen to John. 

“What the little lady said, three sets of shelves,” John said, chuckling.

“I am a little lady,” I said under my breath with a smirk, getting a snort from Simon.

“Well come on over here, we’ve got all kinds of shelves to pick from. You folks have anything in mind?” The salesman asked. “I’m Bill, by the way, pleasure to meet you all.”

“Pleasure,” John said as we followed, introducing us. “What kind of shelves are we looking for, Sweetheart?”

“We are looking for shelves to hold books and knick knacks,” I said. “Nothing fancy, just the capacity to hold things and not break.”

“Alright, it sounds like the little lady knows what she wants,” Bill said with a laugh.

“That she does,” John said, smiling softly at me. 

“Here we have some nice ones that come in a dark finish. They’re solid oak, not particle board so they’ll be good to hand down through the generations,” Bill said as he showed us the first set. Then there was another set almost exactly like that one, just in a different shade. In fact all the shelves he showed us were basically the same thing, just in a different shade. Looking at the prices I couldn’t help making the faces I did. I looked from the price tag to John and Simon with wide eyes. $500 a piece. 

“Uh, do you have anything cheaper?” I asked, looking over to Bill. He glanced at me, but kept his focus on John and Simon. 

“You gentlemen wanna look at something cheaper or stick with something that’s a sure thing?” Bill asked. Did he just ignore me?! Simon squeezed my hand to remind me to stay calm. We were in town and fighting with a sales person was not something to end well. I grasped his hand with both of mine to keep myself in control. 

“Let’s look at something cheaper. She wasn't wanting to drop $1,500 on shelves today and I don’t blame her,” John said. 

“Oh I’m sure we can find something that y’all would like,” Bill said, taking us to a different section of the store. There we found cheaper shelves to put up, but they weren’t exactly what I wanted. They were still expensive for what they were and I just couldn’t justify spending so much money on them when I wasn’t even the one paying for them.

“I don’t really see anything I like,” I said, trying to be as polite as possible as I looked over each shelf. “Maybe we can try a different place.”

“Oh, hold on now,” Bill said with a chuckle. “I’m sure that me and your mates could come to a decision for ya on price. I mean, you don’t want some simple shelving units that’ll fall apart in a few months if you decide to redecorate the house.”

“It’s not for the house, it’s for my room,” I said, locking a glare on Bill. “They’re not my mates either.”

“Let’s just go,” Simon said quietly, already smelling the distinct scent of me getting riled up. He was trying to usher us away, but Bill had to open his mouth. 

“You oughta keep your Omega in line there,” Bill said to John, shaking his head as Simon tried to pull me away by my hand. “They need to be taught to be more respectful.”

“What’d you say!?” I cried, letting go of Simon to turn on my heel to face a suddenly surprised Bill. “You wanna talk about respect, actually listen to your customers no matter who they are, ya walking Rogaine Ad looking ass!” I snarled. Simon already wrapped an arm around my middle to drag me away as John followed, both looking panicked. Whether it was over getting kicked out of the store or me unleashing my wrath or both, they wanted out of there.

“Why don’t you boys come back without them and I’m sure we could work something out without a hormonal Omega actin’ up,” Bill said. That made them pause. The men looked at each other then to me as I practically frothed at the mouth. 

“Better watch out, Bill,” Simon said, letting me go with a smirk. “She’s feral.” That was all the permission I needed before I marched right up to Bill who went white as a sheet. 

“You wanna act like I don’t exist or have feelings, fine! But you don’t get to publicly shame me because of my gender, got it Bill!” I snapped, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You’re just a snub nose asshat that’s more concerned about what’s in someone’s pants than actually getting a sale and you have the balls to get huffy at me for calling you out on it!? Maybe there’d be more people in here if you didn’t over-price your 1950’s shabby decor and act like a pias jackwagon by alienating your customers! Next time you see me, you better act like a decent person instead of some bigoted, capitalist pig that doesn’t care about anybody but himself, ya hear!?” Bill was silent as I had backed him in a literal corner of one of his sectionals with my ‘Omega hormones’.

“Yes, of course,” he said, nodding and shaking. 

“Good, now we’ll take the dark stained oak shelves for $200 a piece. That’s more than what they’re worth,” I said, crossing my arms in front of me as Simon and John moved to stand behind me. 

“Of course, right away,” Bill nodded. I stepped to the side to let him pass, not paying mind to anyone else in the store who was watching. Not that there were many to begin with. I marched with my men behind me to the register where John handed over the money with a smirk on his face. In a matter of 20 minutes we were loaded up and headed home. While neither John nor Simon said a word, I felt pleased with myself. 

At home, we unloaded the shelves and hauled them to my room. Once they were set up, I let them help me unpack the last of my boxes. Books and sketch pads all fit perfectly how I wanted them to and even had some help with Simon setting things on the tippy top as well. 

Finished, we stepped back to admire our work. I couldn’t stop grinning as I stood there next to the Alphas, all of us hot and sweaty from the moving of the large shelves, but satisfied. I did that. I didn’t compromise who I was or what I could do and I got what I wanted. The boys probably got what they wanted too, which I knew was not the shelves. My arms wound around their waists to pull them close for hugs; allowing me to scent them slightly to claim them as my own. They were my pack and I was theirs. 

John was the first to scent me back, rubbing his cheek against my head followed by Simon. I didn’t pull away either. It was the first time in a long time that I felt lighter. That instead of heaving my own baggage along with others’ doubts, stereotypes, and sexism alone, I had help. I had my pack. An honest to god pack of my own that no one could take from me. 

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[purplefixations]

The Best Thing We Never Planned

In honor of the most recent David audio, here is my mind started thinking after I finished listening to it. This is what I think would happen the next morning.

(in the mates gc)

Angel: *picture of David cuddled up to them, sleeping peacefully*

Angel: my fiance is the cutest😍😍😍

Baabe: aww, im saving this for future black mail

Baabe: WAIT!!!

Sweetheart: We're not gonna breeze past that like you didn't say what you just said!

Baabe: i swear to god if you're messing with us!

Baabe: angel answer your phone

Sweetheart: If this is a joke I'm gonna kill you, very slowly

Angel: what do yall want?

Angel: oh...

Baabe: "ya'll" lmao

Baabe: you're around sam too much

Sweetheart: What you mean oh?

Angel: u guys didnt know?

Baabe: NOO?!

Baabe: ash didn't either

Sweetheart: Same with milo

Angel: hold up, how do I know they that didnt know and just kept it a secret?

Baabe: look at my bf and tell me he can keep a secret :/

Baabe: also, I screeched when I saw the word "FIANCE" and he wanted to know why...

Angel: u screeched?

Baabe: I WAS SUPPRISED OKAY!!!

Sweetheart: And I thought milo was jumpy 😂

Baabe: don't pick on me sweetheart, you still havent answered the question.

Sweetheart: Oh, I asked Milo if he knew as soon as I saw the text

Angel: why...

Sweetheart: I assumed he knew and just forgot to tell me

Angel: and he didnt?!

Sweetheart: nope

Sweetheart: It seems David decided not to tell anyone, not surprising tho

Sam: Why is my phone blowing up all at once?

Baabe: scroll up

Sam: Congratulations Angel

Angel: DID U KNOW?!?

Sam: No, no one told me exactly. But Tank mentioned something a few days ago about David and serious commitments, so I'm not exactly supried

Baabe: TANKER KNEW?!????

Sam: Maybe, I can ask.

Sweetheart: I mean, David has been trying to actually include Tank in pack/friend stuff, so maybe this was one of the things.

Baabe: makes sense, tho ash and milo might feel a bit betrayed lol

Sam: They said that David asked them for help with what to say to not sound too cheesey. They also said that it was still extremely sappy in the end.

Angel: it was but it was a nice kind of sappy

Baabe: awwwww

Baabe: what'd he say?

Angel: i dont really remember the words

Angel: it was very long and i think i started crying near the beginning of it all...

Sweetheart: Haha, crybaby

Baabe: HEY! the only one aloud to call them baby is David, back off

Angel: YEAH

Sweetheart: Is this you saying that David calls you a crybaby, and you like it?

Angel: WAiT

Baabe: hahaha

Baabe: masochist

Angel: do you want me to put you on blast? cuz i have receipts

Sam: Okay, I'm going to stop this before it gets out of hand. Again, congrats Angel.

Angel: thanks sam

Sweetheart: Congratulations from me and milo

Baabe: and milo?

Sweetheart: He's been asking for live updates on this situation

Sweetheart: He has also demanded that he gets to help David pick out a suit

Angel: he has to take that up with davey, but honestly that might be a good idea

Baabe: why?

Angel: i love him very much, but he lives in clothes just nice enough to look presentable.

Angel: and dirty work clothes

Baabe: haha

Baabe: ash says congrats too

Baabe: he's been reading this over my shoulder for the last few minutes

Angel: that tracks

Angel: thx tho

Sweetheart: On a serious note, if either of you need any help with filing marriage paper work for an empowered and non-empowered through dump, let me know

Baabe: is it hard?

Sweetheart: I wouldn't say hard, but it's a bit complicated and a lot

Angel: ill keep it in mind Sweets thx

Baabe: getting off that serious note

Baabe: ash made a meme and wants me to send it to you all

Angel: GIMME!!!

Baabe:

Angel: HahAhHAha

Sweetheart: Is that Aggro?

Baabe: he says yes

Angel: is he actually upset?

Baabe: nah, he's just dramatic

Sweetheart: pls tell me he sent that to David

Baabe: he did

Angel: hes still asleep so don't expect a response yet

Baabe: he's still asleep? I thought he was an early riser and shit?

Angel: normally, but i think the solstice tired him out

Sweetheart: It's probably an emotional vulnerability hangover

Angel: lmao

Baabe: haha

Sam: So it's not just Tanker who gets those.

Angel: LMFAO!!!

Angel: theyre too fucking similar

Baabe: hehehe

Baabe: oh shit, if i die pls have a picture of me at your wedding

Angel: ofc, but why r u dying?

Baabe: I didn't notice that ash left, and I smell smoke

Sweetheart: I'll make sure it's a cute picture

Baabe: bless you

Angel: oof, go make sure your mans didnt commit arson

Baabe: 👍

------------------

Bonus:

"Angel, why did Asher and Milo send me vaguely threatening memes?"

"Ooohh. Yeah, that's on you."

"Why?"

"You're the one that didn't tell your best friends that you were proposing."

"I didn't tell them because they cant keep a secret. If I told them, they'd tell their mates, which would be fine but then everyone would start dropping hints and you'd get suspicious."

"Tanker tells Sam everything and you told them."

"How do you know I told Tanker?"

"As I said, they tell Sam everything."

"What- Did you add him to your weird group chat?"

"It's not weird Davey, and besides, he enjoys it."

"I don't know why I bother at this point."

"Because you love me!"

"Yeah. I do, you snot."

Idk how it got this long, I was not planning for that. I wrote this over the span of two ten minute breaks and my lunch at work, so that's why it's kinda chaotic. Anyways, love y'all <3

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted headcanons #redacted fluff #redacted shaw pack #redacted david #redacted angel #redacted sweetheart #redacted babe #redacted sam #david x angel

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

there are already so many posts about palestine, so im gonna make one about israel. the recent attack from the 7. october is the first genocidial attack on jews of this degree since the holocaust. i cant speak about other countries but in germany things are reverting back to nazi times, with david stars painted on front doors of jews and jewish synagogues and kindergartens being closed down or swept empty because the people are terrified. antisemites and the far-right extremist scene is emboldened and empowered by this attack. they look at everyone‘s reaction very closely and at least for my country, ppl are insanely silent about it, which is like a legitimation of their views and their actions. i want ppl to remember that! there should be more space in this anti-genocidial activism than there seems to be currently, one that includes jews. i dont find it funny at all that my timeline, if politics cross it, and that most posts, if i go to the tags, talk about the settler colonialism and the attempted genocide by israel on palestine, but not about the baked-in antisemitism and the degree of terror and severity this recent event has. there are gonna be long-lasting consequences on all sides and its not gonna be fun, there has to be a way to talk about all of it, all human lives lost, all genocides happening and attempted, without letting one fall under the bus because its easier and fits the narrative of the modern justice warrior. years ago they said that this is a fight of anti-colonialism and anti-genocide, not jews vs muslims, in the topic of israel and palestine, but by choosing to not mention one and focusing exclusively on the other now u make it into one. what im seeing currently is a lot of performative activism and one-sided focus that does not help anyone at all save for those profitting from this situation, which are the antisemites, the nazis and the far-right extremists, the hamas and everyone else in league with them. please think about this for a minute and be conscious of whom u are unintentionally aiding

#cant believe i need to say this but: #no i dont agree with israel‘s settler politic #yes i do think what they are doing in gaza sounds like attempted genocide #yes i am side-eyeing them and their politics and their established power and their weaponized victimhood #no i dont think its good that there is so little focus on palestine civilians in the media #yes i think there should have been and should be more focus on what theyve been forced to under under israel #and no i dont think that contradicts my point nor should it #palestine #israel #gaza #current politics #i seldomly say anything about anything thats currently going on in the world #i want my blog to be a place where i can escape from that #but this is making me very angry and i wouldnt forgive myself if i simply shut up about it

[rollercoasterwords]

hiiiiiii!! i don't have the brain to do or watch anything atm but i would LOVE some movie recs please 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

YAY ok assuming this is coming from the 80s movie post so. here r some of my favorite 80s movies:

ridiculous campy fun:

earth girls are easy (1988) - fucking LOVE this movie!!! such a fun time. horny aliens crash their spaceship on earth + get taken in by a human woman. also it's a musical comedy + the aliens are played by jeff goldblum jim carrey and damon wayans

hell comes to frogtown (1988) - also. obsessed w this one. post-apocalyptic world where society is a matriarchy + humans need 2 repopulate. protagonist is a Manly Man who has been discovered to have a Mega-High Sperm Count, making him a government asset so a sexy military doctor locks him up in a chastity cage 2 conserve his precious sperm. also there are mutated frog people + they kidnapped a bunch of ~fertile~ human women to keep as sex slaves so Manly Man needs 2 accompany sexy military doctor + sexy soldier to go rescue the ladies from Frogtown so he can fuck them <3 also his name is Sam Hell. hence. 'hell comes to frogtown'

clue (1985) - based on the board game!! murder mystery comedy w wacky characters + an ending that is oh-so-fun

weird dark fantasy:

the company of wolves (1984) - the movie that inspired my 80s movie post 2nite <3 creepy fairytale retelling of red riding hood w a bunch of stories-within-a-story so that it ends up feeling like some sort of fever dream matryoshka doll

labyrinth (1986) - one of my FAVORITE movies of all time!!!!! david bowie is a goblin king who kidnaps the protagonist's baby brother as a favor 2 her + then when she's like actually i want him back he's like ok solve my maze then <3

return to oz (1985) - sequel to 'the wizard of oz' that is like. 10 times darker + weirder + creepier + definitely scarred me + my twin when we watched it as children lol. dorothy won't stop talking abt oz so she's taken 2 a mental institution for electroshock therapy. queue dramatic storm + sudden return to oz except the city is in ruins + dorothy needs 2 save the day

horror:

aliens (1986) - sequel to alien (1979) which just missed the cutoff for making this list + i also recommend--but u don't NEED 2 watch it 2 watch this movie. outer space creature feature meets slasher survival horror. xenomorph i love u <3

the thing (1982) - another sci-fi alien horror but this time it follows a group of researchers in the arctic who encounter an alien that can change shape 2 look like any of them. queue paranoia. there's also a more modern remake of this movie if i'm not mistaken

day of the dead (1985) - probably romero's least well-known zombie movie lol but a fun one nonetheless! good if u like 80s movies + zombie movies which. i do <3

the shining (1980) - oooh artsy spooky hotel horror.....a classic to be honest....

animated:

the last unicorn (1982) - ANOTHER favorite movie of all time for me!!!! unicorn who lives in isolation in a forest overhears two humans talking about how there are no more unicorns in the world + is like what i can't be the only one left...so she sets out on an adventure 2 try and find out what happened 2 all the unicorns <3 another movie that scarred me as a child bc of how creepy + dark it was

nausicaa of the valley of the wind (1984) - studio ghibli <3 this is one of my fave ghibli films. post-apocalyptic wasteland where giant bugs roam the earth....amazing

castle in the sky (1986) - more ghibli! girl w mysterious magic necklace meets boy who is searching for castle in the sky. also they are being chased by pirates + creepy government agents. FUN

kiki's delivery service (1989) - aaaaand more ghibli. teenage witch sets out 2 make her way in the world + encounters existential dread <3

classics:

heathers (1988) - veronica decides that she's sick of her mean-girl popular friendgroup + at the same time meets Mysterious New Boy. when she complains 2 him abt her friends he starts killing them <3

the princess bride (1987) - based on the book (which i also recommend!!); i feel like everyone knows this movie but. basically fairytale-esque romance abt a girl named buttercup who falls in love w a farmboy named wesley but then wesley gets murdered by pirates...or so it seems....

ferris bueller's day off (1986) - teenagers decide 2 skip school + run amok in chicago. wahoo!!

#if u watch anything. PLEASE let it be hell comes to frogtown #i'm fucking obsessed w that movie it's so fucking fun #like. definition of camp. 2 me #literally just watch the trailer + you'll get the vibe..... #and if u watch anything else. let it be earth girls are easy. and also labyrinth. and also the last unicorn. ok that is all bye <3 #movie recs #ask

[aeirithgainsborough]

i just finished playing parts 1 and 2 of tlou for the first time and, as someone who has grown to love joel and ellie very much within the span of 72 hours and found their characterization in pt 2 to be straight up bizarre, your takes on the game are a godsend. the rage in my heart cannot be extinguished but it can be soothed. thank u for ur service 🫡

you’re welcome!! it’s baffling to me how many people seem to have mindlessly taken it all in, just letting themselves be force fed some bullshit morality tale with no thought cus… yeah it’s bad ajsjjs. the gameplay is good although a little repetitive since it’s more open, the graphics are stunning, and as a disabled person who can struggle with games sometimes the accessibility is next level. they definitely get credit for that!

but the narrative is terrible. for a start it’s chock full of contrivances. abby happens to find tommy and then when she’s looking for him after making a FOURTEEN DAY JOURNEY across a dangerous world she gets into trouble and who should save her but joel! who then runs into a lodge unarmed with a group of strangers after 20 years of being on his guard. and then ellie runs into the room too unarmed despite the noises she can hear coming from it, even though she took on david and his cronies at 14 and got the better of them lol? then they all travel another FOURTEEN DAYS no problems, they find who they need in a huge city, ellie leaves a handy map for abby to find her. it’s absurd. one or two contrivances i can ignore but when you’re that reliant on them for your plot it’s not good writing!

then there’s ellie ‘im scared to end up alone’ ‘you’re the only person to never leave me and id be more scared without you’ williams. a girl who lost her best friend/first love traumatically and had a whole ‘let’s make the most of the time we have left’ thing with her… and she doesn’t speak to the most important person in her life for 2 years?? not my ellie lmao. i can see her being mad. i can see her being cold to him. I can see that relationship being different bcus of joel’s lie. i can’t see her going cold turkey whilst living on the same property as him for that long. i can’t see her never asking him for a proper explanation in that time. she leaves everything behind eventually despite her fears and how important the notion of family is to her. bye dina and jj. and then at the end… it’s pointless! she didn’t even get her revenge after becoming unrecognisable, leaving her loved ones behind, and killing a slew of people to get there. nor does she develop lol AT ALL. at 14 she had survivors’s guilt and was ready to sacrifice her life bcus of that and a belief her life doesn’t matter and then at 19 she’s the same! there’s no lightbulb moment where she’s like OH my life does matter it does have value none of my friends’ deaths were my fault and i don’t need to die for absolution. there’s no moment she realises why joel saved her. she’s stagnant. it’s so miserable. and it haunts me what we could have had if joel hadn’t been killed off for torture porn shock value. if they’d had to go on some journey with their relationship cold and not As It Was and along the way ellie has that understanding that her life DOES matter. ‘no one wants the same story they played in tlou blah blah boring’ LOL YES?? ellie and joel are why ppl loved part 1 and that’s why they had to lie so much in the lead up to the game and marketing. ‘this is a story about joel and ellie that’s why we decided not to have it about new characters’ lie ‘we love joel and ellie and we’re going to treat them with respect’ lie, plus aging joel and ellie up in the trailers and inserting joel into the trailer in a way that made ppl think they were going on a journey. it was a deliberate lie to make ppl who wanted more joel and ellie buy the game and they told it for a reason. and besides there’s a difference between ‘i just met you and i don’t like you rn but slowly im gonna love you’ and ‘i love you but i don’t much like you’ and that difference is actually fascinating and could have been used to rlly good effect instead of… all those stupid contrivances and torture porn!

and then there’s joel lmao. even the opening when he says ‘i saved her’ is so funny his expression his tone it’s literally disney/marvel villain sjsjsjd i cannot take it seriously. beyond that there’s such a dissonance between a) what actually happens in part 1 and what they say in part 2 and b) the violent world they’ve put him/us in and then asked us to get across in one piece with a kid in part 1 and how he’s then judged for that in part 2. ‘get this kid across the country but when WE make it so you’re attacked in every chapter and have to defend yourself/ellie we are going to say joel is a cruelly violent man’ ‘get this kid across the county without letting her die when you’re attacked pls and btw in part 2 we are going to say you taught her violence and corrupted her’ never mind that it’s impossible joel could have done the job in the world THEY created and then punished us for acting accordingly in, but also that he doesn’t even give her a gun until using one makes her sick and it’s not a fun toy to her. and even then it’s for emergencies. he never attacks first, he only defends. and they made it that way! that specific world is useless in moralising to us about violence bcus of that dissonance. none? of? us? can? help? it? ‘be violent when ur attacked or you’ll die and can’t progress the story but we are gonna punish and villainise and demonise you for it in part 2’ ‘kill hundreds of people and dogs, torture people, but did you know violence is bad actually??’. ABSURD. and in that hospital joel was NOT the aggressor. honestly the whole thing would have worked better if abby’s revenge had been for pointless violence. but from the point we know him joel is never violent until they are attacked first. that’s inarguable fact. even tommy in part 2 tells ellie joel wouldn’t have gone to seattle for revenge if it had been one of them! it’s been a long time since he did terrible things and im not saying that makes it ok (except he’s hot and not real so idc) BUT that aside the point is, he doesn’t go looking for it, and it’s never pointless anymore. but he’s the Big Bad Evil who deserves to die like a dog and we know you all love joel but we’re gonna make you hear it and watch it and also in the whole game we are gonna make him the punching bag we are not even going to ONCE let him open his mouth and explain what really happened in that hospital and why he saved ellie (yeah he’s so terrible for not letting a suicidal 14yr old kill herself)! which rlly brings us back round to the dissonance cus they’ve ALL done shitty stuff to survive including abby but she’s gonna be the one to ‘stop horrible evil villain joel in his tracks’ when he’s been living quietly in jackson for 5 years and she’s gonna get her revenge and then after get a happy hopeful ending all to show us violence and revenge is bad which a) falls flat bcus what? revenge makes you lose everything and end up alone except not for abby! and b) she’s objectively just as awful if not more so than joel but she’s the one who has to stop him and gets a nice redemption arc with a hopeful happy ending and joel has to die! abby:

shows great pleasure in slowly torturing joel and then killing him brutally

does the above in front of his screaming kid who’s being held down and forced to watch even though just finding her dad’s body is traumatising for her

is in an authoritarian militia who is intent on wiping out anyone else out in seattle lol?

kills people for that militia including kids

after torturing joel and killing him is so deeply unaffected by it she laments the fact she hasn’t got time to torture some seraphites who are chained up in cells

kills jessie when he’s unarmed cus she rlly learnt violence and revenge was so awful and took everything from you. wait, no, only ellie had to learn that lesson and end up alone. she also shoots and injured tommy!

once again shows sadistic pleasure in the idea of killing when she’s about to slit dina’s throat. this pleasure is bcus she’s pregnant so again yeah she rlly was so affected by her violence and revenge lmao.

never shows any great remorse beyond a throwaway line, meanwhile ellie loses absolutely everything including her fingers and joel, peacefully minding his business in jackson is the villain who deserves to brutally die and even after he’s dead he’s further villanised by the narrative lol even tho he was right to kill jerry fuck that man!

it’s just completely nonsensical! not only are they moralising to us in a world that doesn’t suit it, but they can’t even do it well!

it’s also just relentless misery and torture porn. kill all these ppl kill these dogs watch joel die horribly beat ellie up as the person who killed him even though you love her and are attached to her (really struggle to understand where im meant to find empathy for abby during this, esp after jessie and then the whole dina bit) watch ellie lose her family lose her fingers and end up alone which was her greatest fear. don’t even get me started on the section that posits ellie as a david figure down to gameplay mechanics and the theatre set up which is beyond vile when he tormented her when she was a fucking kid and the voice actor has talked about how he was going to r*** her. it’s vile enough that they took the first lesbian protagonist of an AAA game and tortured her for 25 hours straight and turned her into the villain but to also position her as her own fucking predator is straight up horrific. cus that’s not a stereotype in the lgbt community… as an aside, troy saying joel is the same as david is the stupidest thing ive ever heard and he should shut up forever.

on top of all that the game is homophobic, transphobic and racist. neil got the idea when he fantasised about killing palestinians in revenge… yikes. you can even see how the conflict between the wlf and the seraphites mirrors what’s going on in palestine. it’s actually a plot that’s very similar to an early iteration of tlou1 that was stopped cus... it didn’t make sense for anyone in that world to travel when it’s so dangerous just to get revenge ajsjsjs come back bruce! (ppl like to forget he was integral to part 1)

this game doesn’t respect the characters, it doesn’t respect the world, and it sure as heck doesn’t respect us. it takes the ambiguity from the end of part 1 which made it SO great and rips it to shreds. instead of being allowed to make our own minds up they ram down our throats that joel was completely wrong in the way they punish him through the narrative and ellie (the ellie part just makes it worse :/). goodbye nuance goodbye grey area. the reaction to it from gamers who hail it as a narrative masterpiece and love abby whilst arguing joel is a villain who deserved to die show what propaganda was invented for actually! and then ppl have the audacity to say if you don’t like the game you’re a homophobic woman hater with no depth or nuance ITS LAUGHABLE.

i found the experience of playing the game so genuinely traumatic it was that full of torture porn but the good news is the further out i get from playing the game the better it gets. i haven’t cried for days and days about it which is a record!! and at that point it gets so much easier to disengage from part 2 and just enjoy the actual masterpiece part 1 was.

#SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY ON UR ASK #it’s just tiresome to keep being told there aren’t any valid criticisms of this game… so here they all are ajsjjsd #the feelings of rage and upset get better tho #like ill still complain cus im an autistic goblin but im feeling much better now #the last of us spoilers #tlou2 #anti tlou2 #tlou

[overlooked-gems]

A Look At Stuff You Probably Never Heard Of: Cells at Work

I've been wanting to take a look at this one for a good long while. Alongside animals and mythology, I do have an interest in biology, but more out of curiosity rather than any intense interest. This anime is something akin to Seton Academy, being an edutainment anime that's comedic while being education. Today, we'll be taking a look at... Cells at Work!

Cells at Work is an anime series based on the manga of the same name by Akane Shimizu. The anime itself being a edutainment comedy series, as mentioned before with a focus on biology, being animated by David Productions, the same company known for the JoJo's Bizarre Adventure anime.

The anime itself aired from July 8th, 2018 to February 27th, 2021 across 2 seasons and a special.

The series takes place within the body of a human; their age, name, and gender are all unknown, as they aren't the focus. As stated previously, the series takes place within their body.

The first character introduced is Red Blood Cell, otherwise known as AE3803, working her first day as a red blood cell. Of course, her job is to delivery oxygen, nutrients, and carbon dioxide across the body. But due to it being her first day (and a problem exclusive to her), she quickly finds herself getting lost. Red Blood Cell herself is rather scatter-brained and panics very easily, not to mention she gets distracted very easily as well. Nevertheless, she remains dedicated to her task, come hell or high water, no matter how many times she gets lost.

As she's trying to figure out where to go, the body gets attacked by a group of Pneumococcus bacteria, bacteria capable of causing pneumonia. Just as Red Blood Cell is about to be attacked, White Blood Cell (specifically a Neutrophil), otherwise known as U-1146 comes in and saves her, quickly dispatching the bacteria. White Blood Cells quickly finds himself accompanying Red Blood Cell on her route, both to help her find her way and because he keeps detecting a Pneumococcus bacteria, but can't tell where it is. White Blood Cell, despite his stoic demeanor, is a friendly individual who cares for all the other cells within the body, doing everything he can to protect them. But still kills bacteria with extreme prejudice.

There are also characters such as Killer T Cell, who is also a part of the Immune System, but targets infected/unhealthy/harmful cells alongside foreign entities; Macrophage/Monocytes, who are the strongest of the immune system, but also take the role of nurturing monocytes (juvenile red blood cells); and Platelets, cells specifically meant to patch up holes so more bacteria can't enter the body.

Being an edutainment series, Cells at Work balances comedy with information, such as the above image referring to the process of "Phagocytosis", in which immune cells can consume and absorb foreign entities, neutralizing them as a result.

And so, here's my Final Recommendation: Never Let Go Of It||Get It||Hold Onto It||Try It||Consider It||Stay Away From It

I've already compared the series to the likes of Seton Academy, both mixing education with entertainment. However, Cells at Work has pretty much no fanservice, unlike Seton Academy.

I also want to mention that many character design elements are taken from their real-world equivalents. For example, Neutrophil. When people think of "White Blood Cell", odds are they're specifically thinking of the Neutrophil, being the first line of defense against invaders, and the most common among the White Blood Cells. Also, Macrophage's frilly dress references how real-life Macrophages look when viewed from a microscope. And NK Cell gets a power boost from laughing, just like how real-life Natural Killer Cells are empowered when you laugh. Similar to Killer T Cells, their job is to kill infected cells; cells infected by viruses or cancer cells.

I also want to give special mention to the platelets. In real-life, platelets only live for 7 to 10 days. So to references their incredibly short life-span, the platelets show are children, complete with childish mannerisms.

Speaking of life spans, the series doesn't abide by those rules. As stated, platelets only live for 7 to 10 days. Similarly, neutrophils only live for about 20 days at maximum, though most are expected to die fighting foreign invaders. So yeah, you can see why that wasn't included.

The show also doesn't just do bacteria, though they are typically a significant threat and pop up as a result of whatever happens to the body, ranging from an injury to heat stroke, or even Hemorrhagic Shock (a serious blow that results in a massive loss of blood in the area).

The series does also explain things that not many people know, as as transmigration, the ability immune system cells have that allow them to travel pretty much anywhere (IRL, they can go pretty much anywhere to track down bacteria). It also explains how allergies work (basically, the immune system overreacts with a particular object, thinking it to be a threat when it isn't. This applies to common seasonal allergies, as well as food allergies.

And before I end this, I also want to say that the series does have a few spin-offs. Cells at Work: BLACK focuses on Cells living in the body of someone who doesn't take care of themselves (the host is also directly stated to be male), Cells at Work: Bacteria focuses on friendly bacteria that live in the body, and Cells at Work: Baby focuses on cells within a newborn infant trying to figure things out. Of course, there are many others.

Now, before I go, I would like to share the intro. The dubbed intro! Remember that? We don't see those too often anymore. And yes, that's Billy Kametz. He's the dubbed voice of White Blood Cell.

#A Look At Stuff You Probably Never Heard Of #Cells at Work #Youtube

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

10th March >> Fr. Martin's Homilies / Reflections on Today's Mass Readings (Inc. John 3:14-21) for the Fourth Sunday of Lent, Year B: ‘The light has come into the world’.

Fourth Sunday of Lent, Year B

Gospel (Except USA) John 3:14-21 God sent his Son so that through him the world might be saved.

Jesus said to Nicodemus:

‘The Son of Man must be lifted up as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so that everyone who believes may have eternal life in him. Yes, God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not be lost but may have eternal life. For God sent his Son into the world not to condemn the world, but so that through him the world might be saved. No one who believes in him will be condemned; but whoever refuses to believe is condemned already, because he has refused to believe in the name of God’s only Son. On these grounds is sentence pronounced: that though the light has come into the world men have shown they prefer darkness to the light because their deeds were evil. And indeed, everybody who does wrong hates the light and avoids it, for fear his actions should be exposed; but the man who lives by the truth comes out into the light, so that it may be plainly seen that what he does is done in God.’

Gospel (USA) John 3:14–21 God sent his Son so that the world might be saved through him.

Jesus said to Nicodemus: “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.” For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him. Whoever believes in him will not be condemned, but whoever does not believe has already been condemned, because he has not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the verdict, that the light came into the world, but people preferred darkness to light, because their works were evil. For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come toward the light, so that his works might not be exposed. But whoever lives the truth comes to the light, so that his works may be clearly seen as done in God.

Homilies (6)

(i) Fourth Sunday of Lent

All of the great religions have a symbol that identifies it. The symbol of Judaism is the six pointed Star of David. The symbol of Islam is the crescent moon and star. The symbol of Hinduism is made up of three letters A, U and M. The symbol of Christianity is the cross. The cross speaks of crucifixion, a terrible form of death that the Roman Empire reserved for slaves and those considered a threat to public order. It is how Jesus was put to death.

When we look upon Jesus crucified, we can see what human beings are capable of doing to one another; we confront the sin that put Jesus on the cross. Jesus lifted up on the cross exposes the evil tendencies that resides in all of our hearts. Yet, when we as Christians look upon the cross, we see more than just the darkness of human nature. We also see the brightness of God’s nature. We see the love of God shining through the crucified Jesus. In the gospel reading, Jesus speaks of himself as the Son of Man who must be lifted up. Jesus had to be lifted up on the cross; it was the price he had to pay for remaining faithful to his mission of revealing God’s love for the world. As Jesus says elsewhere in this gospel of John, ‘No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends’. Jesus’ death on the cross revealed his greater love for us, a love that was faithful to us, even when it meant his death. The love that shone through Jesus as he hung from the cross was the love of God. On the cross Jesus was showing the world that God is love. In the words of today’s gospel reading, ‘God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son’. Jesus’ whole life, and especially his death, was a powerful expression of God’s love for the world and for each one of us personally. Saint Paul could say, and we can all say, ‘I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me’. Jesus was God’s greatest gift of love to the world and to each one of us personally.

Today’s gospel reading goes on to say that ‘God sent his Son into the world not to condemn the world’. There was and is much to condemn in the world. The crucifixion of Jesus, the continued slaughter of the innocents, is a witness to the power of sin in the world. Yet, Jesus did not come among us just to condemn what was wrong in us. God sent his Son into the world to reveal a love that was more powerful than sin or evil, so that we could all be raised up by this love. God sent his Son into the world to release a power of love that would enable us to become the people God desires us to be, what the second reading refers to as ‘God’s work of art, created in Christ Jesus to live the good life’. If we allow ourselves to be touched by God’s love given to us in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, we will begin to live fully human lives and we will enter into eternal life.

Saint Paul in the second reading stresses that God’s love present in Jesus is freely given to us. It does not have to be earned; it is not a reward for what we have done. As Paul says, ‘it is by grace that you have been saved, through faith… not by anything you have done’. No matter who we are or what has happened to us in life, God is for us, God’s love is over us to recreate us, to lift us up from our sin, so that we can live loving lives that reflect God’s love for the world. God’s love poured out through his Son is a gift to be received rather than a reward to be earned. Receiving this gift can be a gradual process in our lives. When Jesus went to wash Peter’s feet, Peter said, ‘You shall never wash my feet’. Peter struggled to receive Jesus’ gift of his self-emptying love. There is something of Peter in all of us. Yet, Jesus would not take no for an answer, saying to Peter, ‘Unless I wash you, you have no share with me’. Peter had many flaws; he would soon deny Jesus publicly. Yet, Jesus insisted on washing Peter’s feet.

God’s love for us present in Jesus is unconditional, because God is love. One of the greatest challenges of faith is to allow God to be God, to allow God present in Jesus, our risen Lord, to bring me to experience his love for me in a very personal way. The light of God’s love never ceases to shine, but sometimes, in the words of the gospel reading, we can avoid this light. Our calling is to keep coming into God’s loving light. That will sometimes mean turning from whatever pockets of darkness are to be found in our lives. They need not come between us and the love of God because as Paul says in one of his letters, ‘nothing in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord’.

And/Or

(ii) Fourth Sunday of Lent

A painting hung for many years on the wall of a dinning room in the Jesuit house on Lesson Street. No one paid much attention to it until one day someone with a keen eye spotted it and realized that this could be something of great value. He had it further investigated by art experts, and it turned out that this painting was the work of no less a person than the great Italian artist Caravaggio. The painting of the arrest of Jesus in the garden now hangs in the National Art Gallery, and it is one of the Gallery’s great treasures. All those years it hung in the dining room of Lesson Street it was no less a treasure, but its worth, its value, went unrecognized. It hung there waiting to be discovered, waiting for someone to recognize its true worth, its true value as a work of art.

In the second reading this morning, Paul states that ‘we are God’s work of art, created in Christ Jesus to live the good life’. Like the painting in Lesson Street, we can go unnoticed as a work of art, especially to ourselves. We don’t tend to think of ourselves as a work of art. Yet, as Paul reminds us in our second reading, God sees us as works of art. Like the person who spotted the painting in Lesson Street, God knows our true worth, our true value. As God said through the prophet Isaiah, ‘You are precious in my sight, and I love you’. We are as works of art to him, of great worth and value, precious in his sight.

We can probably think of people in our own lives that are as works of art to us. These are people we value greatly, people we treasure, whose worth to us is beyond price. Today is Mother’s day, and most of us think of our mothers in that way, whether they are still living or are with the Lord. When someone is a treasure to us, we don’t count the cost in their regard. We will do anything we can for them. We will travel long distances to see them; we will stay up half the night to be with them if they are ill; we will defend and protect them with all our passion when necessary. We keep faith in them; we are faithful to them, even when that makes great demands on us. How we relate to those we value and treasure is not determined so much by how they relate to us. Even if they do something that annoys us, we tend to make all kinds of allowances for them. We say something like, ‘that’s just the way he is, she is’. Their worth in our eyes, their value to us, is rooted in something deeper than what they do or fail to do. We value them, simply, for who they are.

Our experience of how we relate to those we value, and of how people who value us relate to us, gives us a glimpse of how the Lord relates to us. God loves us in a way that does not count the cost. The gospel reading today expresses that truth very simply: ‘God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son’. God sent us his Son out of love for us and that sending became a giving when his Son was put to death on a cross. Here was a love that did not count the cost, a sending that became a giving when that was called for. As Paul says in the second reading, ‘God loved us so much that he was generous with his mercy’. We are of such value in God’s eyes that God did not spare his own Son, but gave him up to benefit us all. It is not surprising that the cross has become the dominant symbol of Christianity. This is not because we glorify suffering in any way, but because we recognise that the cross is a powerful sign of how much God values us, how precious we are in God’s sight, the extent to which God is prepared to go to express love for us.

Our love for those we value is bestowed on them for who they are more than for what they do. The same is true of God’s love for us in Christ. It is pure gift. As Paul says in the second reading, ‘it is not based on anything you have done’. Some of us find it difficult to really believe that. We find ourselves asking, ‘how I done enough?’ Yet, when it comes to someone in our lives whom we know truly loves us, we would rarely ask that question of them. Why should we ask it of God, when even the greatest of human love is only gives us a glimpse of God’s love? God loves us for who we are, people made in his image, and, therefore, works of art.

What is asked of us in relation to God is that we receive God’s love, or in the words of the gospel reading today, that we come into the light. The light of God’s love falls upon us, but we can hide from it. Children fear the darkness very often. But as adults we often fear the light, because we suspect that the light will expose us in some way. Yet, the light of God is not a harsh light, the kind of light that is trained on a suspect in an interrogation room. It is a strong, yet warm, light that brings healing and generates new life. It is an empowering light that enables us to ‘live the good life’, as Paul says in the second reading. We pray that, as the hours of day light increase in these days, the life-giving light of God’s love would renew us and fill us with a desire to serve him.

And/Or

(iii) Fourth Sunday of Lent

Children are often afraid of the dark, as the parents here in the church will know. A dim light is sometimes left on while children sleep, so that if they wake up it is not in pitch darkness. Many of us as adults find total darkness disconcerting too. Those of us who live in cities never really experience total darkness. It is different out in the country away from villages, towns and cities. I remember going on a holiday as a young person to the Arran Islands and being struck by just how dark it was at night. There was very little in the way of artificial light to dispel the darkness. The experience of near total darkness after night fell was disconcerting.

Although most of us would claim to prefer light to darkness, in today’s gospel reading Jesus declares that some people ‘have shown they prefer darkness to the light because their deeds were evil’. Most crime is committed during the hours of darkness. Those who are intent on doing wrong are drawn to darkness because it provides them with cover. As today’s gospel states: ‘Everyone who does wrong hates the light and avoids it, for fear his actions should be exposed’. One of the many security measures that have become popular in recent years is an array of bright lights that come on at night whenever anyone steps into an area that is out of bounds. Light is considered, with good reason, to be a deterrent to the person who is intent on committing crime. Indeed, there is a sense in which we all fear too much light just as we do too much darkness. Many of us prefer to stay in the background, in the shadows; we don’t like the spotlight being shone on us. We all have secrets that we would wish to remain in darkness, away from the bright lights that human curiosity and inquiry might like to shine on them. There are aspects of our lives that we would prefer to remain in darkness because we are not sure how people might respond to us if a bright light were to be shone on them. We only bring our deepest selves out into the light in the presence of those we really trust.

The gospel of John frequently refers to Jesus as light. On one occasion, Jesus says of himself: ‘I am the light of the world’. In today’s gospel reading, Jesus says with reference to himself: ‘Light has come into the world’. The gospel reading also declares that the light that has come into the world in the person of Jesus is the light of God’s love. In one of the most memorable statements of the New Testament, the gospel reading declares, ‘God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son so that everyone who believes in him… may have eternal life’. The light of Jesus is not the probing light of the grand inquisitor that seeks out failure and transgression with a view to condemnation. Indeed, the gospel reading states that God ‘sent his Son into the world not to condemn the world’. The light of Jesus, rather, is the inviting light of God’s love, calling out to us to come and to allow ourselves to be bathed in this light, and promising those who do so that they will share in God’s own life, both here and now and also beyond death.

At the beginning of today’s gospel reading, Jesus speaks of himself as the Son of Man who must be lifted up. It was on the cross that Jesus was lifted up, and it was above all at that moment that the light of God’s love shone most brightly. It is a paradox that those who attempted to extinguish God’s light shining in Jesus only succeeded in making that light of love shine all the more brightly. God’s gift of his Son to us was not in any way thwarted by the rejection of his Son. God’s giving continued as Jesus was lifted up to die, and God’s giving found further expression when God raised his Son from the dead and gave him to us as risen Lord. Here indeed is a light that darkness cannot overcome, a love that human sin cannot extinguish. This is the core of the gospel. This is why the fourth Sunday of Lent is known as Guadete Sunday, Rejoice Sunday.

When we are going through a difficult experience and darkness seems to envelope us, it can be tempting to think that we will never see the light again. This is the mood that is captured in today’s responsorial psalm: ‘By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat and wept’. Today’s readings assure us that there is a light that shines in the darkness and that the darkness will not overcome, a light that heals and restores, in the words of today’s second reading, a light that brings us to life with Christ and raises us up with him. It shines in a special way whenever we celebrate the Eucharist. As we gather around the table of the word and the table of the Eucharist, the light of God’s love revealed in the death and resurrection of Jesus shines upon whatever darkness we may be struggling with in our lives.

And/Or

(iv) Fourth Sunday of Lent

We have become very aware in recent weeks of how much longer the days are getting. We are half way through the month of March and already it is bright up until after six o’clock. We have even brighter days to look forward to, especially as the clock goes forward next weekend. The brighter evenings brings everybody out. With the increase in light, there is also an increase in growth. The first blossoms of spring have already come out. Nature is coming to life after a time of hibernation.

The gospel reading this morning is in keeping with what is happening in nature. It declares that ‘light has come into the world’. The light there is a reference to the light of God that has come into the world through Jesus. Both the second reading and the gospel reading make clear that the light of God is the light of love. The second reading declares that God loved us with so much love that he was generous with his mercy; it speaks of God’s goodness towards us in Christ, the infiniteness richness of God’s grace in Christ. The gospel reading declares that God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son. In the light that Jesus brings from God we find mercy, compassion, great love, kindness, infinite grace. Sometimes we don’t like too much light. There is a certain kind of light that can expose us mercilessly, like the light of the interrogator’s lamp. However, Jesus brings a light that need hold no fear for us; it is a divine light that lifts us up, just as the Son of Man was lifted up, in the words of the gospel reading. Here is a light that assures us of our worth and that helps us to see the goodness that is within us and the good that we are capable of doing. It is a light that, in the words of the second reading, allows us to recognize that ‘we are God’s work of art, created in Christ Jesus to live a good life’. It is the light of a love that shines upon us regardless of what we have done or failed to do. As the first reading reminds us, God’s grace, God’s love, comes to us not on the basis of anything we have done. It is not something we earn by our efforts; it comes to us as a pure gift. When God gave his Son to the world, did not ask whether the world was worthy of his Son or whether the world was ready for his Son. Even when the world crucified God’s Son, God did not take back his Son from the world. Rather, God continued to give his Son to the world, raising him from the dead and sending him back into the world through the Holy Spirit, through the church. Here is a light that shines in the darkness and that the darkness cannot overcome, in the words of the gospel of John.

We all long for that kind of light, a light that is strong and enduring, a light that can be found at the heart of darkness and that is more resilient than darkness. We have all experienced darkness in one shape or form. It may be the darkness of sickness, or of the death of a loved one or the darkness of failure; we may struggle from time to time with the darkness of depression, with those dark demons that tell us that we are worthless and that life is not worth living. Something of that darkness of spirit finds expression in today’s responsorial psalm. It was composed from the darkness of exile in Babylon. ‘By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat and wept, remembering Zion’. We may have known our own experiences of exile in its various forms, times when we felt cut off from what gives meaning and purpose to our lives. The readings this morning assure us that in all those forms of darkness, a light shines - the light of God’s enduring love that is constantly at work in our lives so that we may have life and have it to the full. In the words of the gospel reading again, ‘God gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him... may have eternal life’.

Even though this wonderful light has come into the world and wants to shine upon us all, we can be reluctant to step into that light, and allow it to shine upon us. In the words of the gospel reading, ‘though the light has come into the world, people have shown that they prefer darkness to the light’. This is the mysterious capacity of human freedom to reject the light, to turn away from a faultless love and a boundless mercy. Yet, our coming to the light is often a gradual process; it can happen slowly, at our own pace. The Lord is always prepared to wait on us; he waits for our free response. We are not used to a love that is as generous, as merciful, as rich in grace and goodness as God’s love; it takes us time to receive it, to believe in it, to embrace it. Receiving God’s love and then living out of that gift is the calling and task of a life time.

And/Or

(v) Fourth Sunday of Lent

My father loved fresh air. The bull wall was one of his favourite places. Like many men of his generation, he was a smoker and, sometimes, his breathing became a struggle. He loved to get out in the open where there was a good wind blowing that could fill his lungs. My mother was much less keen on fresh air, especially of the windy variety. It tended to leave her hair in what she considered a mess. After having experienced an abundance of fresh air at my father’s prompting, she was often heard to say, ‘I’m like the wreck of the Hesperus’. As children we were mystified as to what the ‘wreck of the Hesperus’ was. It was only many years later I discovered it was the name of a rather tragic poem about a shipwreck in a storm by the American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, published in 1842. However, as children, we knew that when our mother came out with this expression it meant that she didn’t like the look of herself. In those moments, Saint Paul’s statement at the end of today’s second reading wouldn’t have cut much ice with her, ‘We are God’s work of art’.

Perhaps, we all find it difficult to really believe that we are God’s work of art. We admire the workmanship of great artists, like Michelangelo, Raphael, Caravaggio, and we recognize their creations as works of art. Many of these great artists were people of faith who were very aware that their ability to create works of art was a gift from God. They understood that God was the supreme artist, and they sensed that they were sharing in God’s creative power. Every new born child is God’s work of art, because they are an image and reflection of God, the supreme artist. In that sense, we are each God’s work of art. Just as a work of art can deteriorate over time and need cleaning and restoration, so, as we go through life, we do not always give full expression to our inner identity as God’s work of art. In that second reading, Saint Paul says that ‘we are God’s work of art, created in Christ Jesus to live the good life’. We don’t always live the good life that does justice to God’s work of art that we are.

Yet, what we do or fail to do does not fundamentally undermine who we are as people made in the image and likeness of the great Artist. Indeed, not only have we been created as human beings in the image of God, but that identity has been enhanced through God’s sending of his Son into the world and our communion with God’s Son through baptism and faith. Jesus was the perfect image and likeness of God. He was God’s greatest work of art. The closer we come to Jesus, the more he lives in and through us, the more we will grow into our true identity as God’s image and likeness, God’s work of art. We could imagine Jesus as the great restorer of God’s work of art, humanity. As Saint Paul says in that second reading, ‘when we were dead through our sins, he (God) brought us to life with Christ’. Through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, God recreates us in his image and likeness, restores our identity as his work of art. Having created us out of love, God recreated us, restored us, out of love. That is the core message of today’s readings. The gospel reading declares that ‘God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son’. God’s renewing love embraces the world, all of humanity who have been made in his image and likeness, and, indeed, all of creation. Paul in the second reading states that God’s ‘goodness towards us in Christ Jesus’ shows ‘how infinitely rich he is in grace’. Paul goes on to remind us that God’s loving initiative towards us through his Son is pure gift; it is not a response to anything we have done, as if we had to build up credit with God first.

We are all aware of the good we have failed to do and the wrong we have done. As a result, we can be prone to condemning ourselves, and others can look in judgement upon us. Yet, God is not primarily in the business of condemning. In the words of the gospel reading, ‘God sent his Son into the world, not to condemn the world, but so that through him, the world might be saved’, might have life and have it to the full. The eyes of love always see goodness and beauty in the beloved even though he or she may leave a lot to be desired. Those we love deeply remain works of art to us, even though our shared journey may have had many ups and downs. God’s love for us, revealed in his Son, is infinitely greater than any human love. God continues to see us as his works of art, even though our lives may be tainted by sin. He continually gives us the gift of his Son and of the Holy Spirit so that can grow into that work of art more fully. All God of asks of us is that we keep opening our hearts to that gift of his Son, that we keep coming out into the light, in the words of today’s gospel reading.

And/Or

(vi) Fourth Sunday of Lent

A painting hung for many years on a dinning room wall in the Jesuit house on Lesson Street. No one paid much attention to it until one day someone with a keen eye realized that this could be something of great value. It was further investigated by art experts, and it turned out that this painting was the work of the great Italian artist Caravaggio. The painting of the arrest of Jesus is now hangs one of the National Gallery’s great treasures. All those years it hung in the dining room of Lesson Street it was no less a treasure, but its value went unrecognized. It hung there waiting to be discovered, waiting for someone to recognize its true value as a work of art.

According to the particular translation of the letter to the Ephesians we read from this evening, we are all ‘God’s work of art, created in Christ Jesus to live the good life’. We don’t tend to think of ourselves as works of art. Yet, like the person who spotted the painting in Lesson Street, God knows our true worth, our true value. We are works of art to God; we are of great worth and value in God’s sight.

We can all think of people in our own lives whom we value greatly, whose worth to us is beyond price, because to us they are works of art. Today is Mother’s day, and most of us think of our mothers in that way, whether they are still living or are with the Lord. When someone is a treasure to us, we don’t count the cost in their regard. We will do anything we can for them. We will travel long distances to see them; we will stay up half the night to be with them if they are ill; we will protect them with all our passion when necessary. How we relate to those we value and treasure is not determined so much by how they relate to us. Even if they do something that annoys us, we tend to make all kinds of allowances for them. We say something like, ‘that’s just the way he/she is’. Their worth in our eyes is rooted in something deeper than what they do or fail to do. We value them, simply, for who they are.

Our experience of how we relate to those we value, and of how people who value us relate to us, gives us a glimpse of how God relates to us. God loves us in a way that does not count the cost. The gospel reading today expresses that truth very simply: ‘God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son’. God sent his Son out of love for us and that sending became a giving when his Son was put to death on a cross. Here was a love that did not count the cost, a sending that became a costly giving when that was called for. As Paul says in the second reading, ‘God loved us so much that he was generous with his mercy’. We are of such value in God’s eyes that God did not spare his own Son, but gave him up to benefit us all. It is not surprising that the cross has become the dominant symbol of Christianity. This is not because we glorify suffering in any way, but because we recognise that the cross is a powerful sign of how much God values us, how precious we are in God’s sight; it shows the extent to which God is prepared to go to express love for us.

Our love for those we value is bestowed on them for who they are more than for what they do. The same is true of God’s love for us in Christ. As Paul says in the second reading, ‘it is not based on anything you have done’. Some of us find it difficult to really believe that. We find ourselves asking, ‘how I done enough?’ Yet, when it comes to someone in our lives whom we know truly loves us, we would never think of asking them, ‘Have I done enough?’ Why should we ask such a question of God, when even the greatest of human love is only gives us a glimpse of God’s love? God loves us for who we are, people made in the image of God’s Son, and, to that extent, works of art.

What God asks of us is that we receive God’s love revealed and made present in Christ, or, in the words of the gospel reading today, that we come into the light. The light of God’s love falls upon us, but we can hide from it. Children fear the darkness very often. But as adults we often fear the light, because we suspect that the light will expose us in some way. Yet, the light of God is not a harsh light, the kind of light that is trained on a suspect in an interrogation room. It is a strong, yet warm, light that brings healing and generates new life. It is an empowering light that enables us to ‘live the good life’, as Paul says in the second reading, ‘to do good works’. As the hours of day light are increasing in these days, we pray that the life-giving light of God’s love would renew us and fill us with a new desire to serve him.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[thesherrinfordfacility]

✨ episode 4 - running commentary✨

- I'm not ready for this no no no no no DEEP BREATH ok let's go

- I will just say actually that ep3 has turned it around for me, like 100% and it is SO MUCH BETTER on tv than on the bigger screen, the screenings were fun but a Mistake

- anyWAY

- LESI???

- ok literally a hitchhiker lmao @theeminentlyimpractical wins this round HAHAH JTS SHAX JAHAHA mood swing

- oh my god i want them to be friends in an AU fuCK SHE WORKED IT OUT AZIRAPHALE LMAO

- BAD SHAX HE IS ✨EXACTLY✨ HIS TYPE fucking BEAT HER ASS AZZY

- lmao aziraphale???? YOU SLY DOG????

- this has to be a fuck moment right aziraphale? az?? CMON SWEAR YOU DUMBASS BITCH

- honestly aziraphale if it turns out furfur is an ex we need to have cocktails bbygirl tell me EVERYTHING YOU DIRTY HOE

- 40S MINISODE ARGHJ🚨🚨🚨🚨

- lmao walking dead au when, they really did end up down there huh I mean foregone conclusion but this gives me LIFE

- idc about hell I need the BOYS I need the dinner of motherfucking 41

- all the Nazis lmao get shredded bitches

- furfur lol this is doomed to failure

- DAVID TENNANT ON FIRE FUCK YES

- aziraphale stop trying to offer him a handy I'm sorry but you need to TONE IT DOWN you nearly got blown up NOW IS NOT THE TIME offer him a blowy LATER

- no I'm sorry but Mrs h???? FUCKING GET THEM GIRL THEYRE MY BABIES BUT INEPT AF

- THE SHOT THE CROWLEY PICTURE FUCK

- this is so much better than I could have ever predicted NEIL YOU MAGNIFICENT BASTARd

- AHHHHHH AM I ABOUT TO BE RIGHT ABOUT THE 40S MINSODE DID I PREDICT THS???? DO THEY KISS????💓✨ IS THERE A 🚨MOMENT🚨

- also lmao the dinner is after the show??? idk let's see

- IM SWEATIN SO HARD THIS KS SO GOOd

- fucking HOWLING at the Nazi trio hahaha Steve pemberton is *the* moment lmaooooo

- OOP NO DINNER DINNER NOW??? Also lmao 'friends' I bet that BURNED Michael's mouth to FUCK

- crowley's face I'm DYING aziraphale you're so SILLY

- fuck me im so whipped for 40s Crowley and his lil jazzy wazzy hands

- THE WAY HE FLIRTS FUCK OFF GO AWAY CROWLEY stop buttering him up HES ABOJT TO JUMP YOU BUD

- ahhh magic shop!!!!!✨✨✨

- I know we said that aziraphale has the patience of a saint but I take it back Crowley is still an angel I'm convinced of it

- aziraphale literally has no self preservation I love him

- "leave the miracles to us" snarky ass bitch

- AHHHH HE TRUSTS CROWLEY FUCK YES the way he grabs his MF HAND no I'm done now

- DID I CALL CROWLEY BEING A VOLUNTEER IN A FUCKINF SHITPOST my GOD

- aziraphale you are a disaster

- I FUCKING CALLED IT HAHAHA this is my win ill tAKE IT CROWLEY CALLED AS A VOLUNTEER HAHAHA

- oh my god someone drag him off stage pLEASE

- GRITTED TEETH "NEITHER ARE MINE HEHE" hahahaha

- HE LITERALLY HAS TO TRUST CROWLEY UGH THIS IS 4AM GIRL DINNER ✨💓

- Cmon Crowley you can do it bbygirl💓💓💓💓

- HE DID IT

- here we GO THE DRESSING ROOM SCENE YES

- no fuck off furfur they need to snog go away OH MY GOD THEY KNEW EACH OTHER, jealous AZIRAPHALE?????

- "AZIRA-FALALALALA"

- oh I'm living for the zombies I love them

- lmao that photo hahahaha

- FUCK AZIRAPHALE YOU ARe so goOD AT MAGIC AND SLEIGHT OF HAND IM SORRY I EVER DOUBTED YOU you saved yourselves YES

- DINNER DINNER DINNER

- NOW KISS

- NOW

- "retire the act"

- OH MT FOD THIS IS SO SOFT??????? FUCKINF HELL

- BLUR THE MF EDGES

- THE WIIIIIIINE

- wait no come back u need to kiss now no

- fucking cockblocked by a scene change fuCK

- NO SHAX YOU BITCH NO LEAVE THEM ALONE LEAVE THEM ALOOOOOONNEEEEEE

- PLEASE

- yes beelzebub NO BEELZEBUB lol another mood swing

- annnnnd he's back home💓💓💓

- I KNEW AZIRAPHALE WAS BENTLEY'S FAVE get shitted on crowley

- he's MOVING BACK IN???? INTK RHE BENTLEY???? CROWLEY TOU ARE SO STUPID BABES

- "a night to REMEMBER" lmao it BETTER BE

Oh no it's the ball episode next I BETTER GET THAT KISS but also an explanation for "u go too fast for me Crowley" bc that did NOT explain it

#good omens #good omens season 2 #go2 commentary #good omens spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #not a shitpost but its good omens babyyyy

[lizzisimss]

Clancy-Li Family Home

CC used (list below) Daisy Hovel in Willow Creek 30 x 20 6 bed, 3 bath $210,867

This build is part of the Lizzisimss Save File.

Aira – https://www.patreon.com/airacc

·       Froggy Painting

ATS4 – https://www.patreon.com/aroundthesims

·       Kitchenrack mitts

Brazenlotus - https://www.patreon.com/BrazenLotus

·       Steezy Skis

·       Laundry Made Essentials

·       Laundry Made Deluxe

·       Heavy Metal Shelf

charly pancakes - https://www.patreon.com/charlypancakes

·       The Lighthouse Collection merged

·       Dinna Merged

·       Lavish Merged

·       Miscellanea Merged

·       Modish Merged

·       Smol merged

·       Soak merged

Felixandre – https://www.patreon.com/felixandre

·       Shop the Look Season 1

Greenllamas – https://www.patreon.com/greenllamas

·       KERV

house of harlix - https://www.houseofharlix.com

·       Orjanic

·       Bafroom Merged

·       Baysic Bafroom Merged

·       Baysic Merged

·       Harluxe Merged

·       Jardane

·       Livin’Rum Merged

·       The Kitchen

·       Tiny Twavellers Merged

harrie - https://www.patreon.com/heyharrie

·       Brutalist Bathroom merged

·       Country Collection merged

·       DU Windows Updated

·       Kwatei part 1 merged

·       Octave Part 2, 3, 4 merged

Kiwisim - https://www.patreon.com/Kiwisim4

·       Blockhouse

·       Piha

KKB – https://www.patreon.com/user?u=15789815

·       Citrus Room

 leaf motif - https://leaf-motif.tumblr.com

·       2202 Magnolia Bathroom

·       Aubrey Office

·       Calliope Bathroom

·       Floret Grove

·       Heirloom Kitchen

·       Ivy Hallway

·       Painted Mailboxes

·       Rory Bedroom

·       Starlight Crystals

·       Sunbeam Study

·       Sunny Corner

·       Twee Tableware

·       Vintage Crockery

·       Willow Creek

·       Patron gift 2

·       Patron gift 4

·       Patron gift 5

·       Patron gift 6

Lilis-palace – https://www.patreon.com/lilis_palace

·       Folklore set off the grid

Littlecakes – https://litttlecakes.tumblr.com/downloadspage

·       Record Player

littledica - https://www.patreon.com/littledica

·       Countryside Cabin merged

·       Rise & Grind Café merged

·       Sleek slumber stuff pack merged

·       Deligracy merged cottage living update

·       Deligracy Delicato stuff pack

·       Summer Party merged

Madlen – https://www.patreon.com/madlen

·       Brizo Tumbler

·       Nuri Rug

·       Numi Backpack

Marvell – https://marvell-world.tumblr.com/download

·       Upcycle books

·       Upcycle Bedside Table

·       KC Pot

max 20 - https://www.patreon.com/Max20

·       Child dream kit

·       Classic kitchen

·       Cozy backyard pack

·       Garden at home

·       Master bedroom

·       Poolside lounge pack

Mechtasims - https://www.patreon.com/mechtasims

·       Back to School Calendar

·       Bathroom set

·       Essential Clutter

·       Groovy baby

Mlys – https://mlyssimblr.tumblr.com/cc-catalog

·       Pufferhead

·       Dresser_Nordic Clothing Rack

my cup of cc -https://www.patreon.com/mycupofcc

·       ColourTalk DiningStuff

·       ColourTalk Kitchen merged

·       Maple Manor The Modernist Collection LivingRm

·       TinyDreamers merged

myshunosun - https://www.patreon.com/myshunosun

·       Elle office

·       Luna bedroom

·       Nora living

·       Riikka bedroom

·       Serene bathroom

·       Uma living

·       Arrie office

·       Daria bedroom

·       Dawn living

·       Gale dining

·       Lottie candle

·       Simmify instant camera

·       Herbalist kitchen

·       Vanity nook

ND – https://www.thesimsresource.com/artists/NynaeveDesign/

·       Lyne half blinds v2

Networksims - https://www.thesimsresource.com/members/networksims

·       David tile wall

Novvvas – https://boosty.to/ts4novvvas

·       Vintage floor

peacemaker - https://peacemaker-ic.tumblr.com/TS4O...

·       Atwood Living

·       Creta kitchen

·       Elsie bedroom basics

·       Futura

·       Hamptons retreat

·       Hudson bathroom

·       Kingston dining

·       Kitayama dining

·       Kitayama living

·       MidCentury Eclectic

·       Mina Kitchen

·       Quintin Kitchen

·       Roarsome Kids Bedroom

·       Seasons Buildmode Expanded

pierisim - https://www.patreon.com/pierisim

·       Precious Promises

·       Calderone bedroom

·       MCM

·       Oak House

·       The Office mini kit

·       Tidying up

·       Auntie Vera bathroom

·       Coldbrew Coffeeshop

·       Domaine Du Clos

·       Maison Meuliere part 1

·       Winter Garden

Renorasims – https://www.patreon.com/renorasims

·       GP05-REDUX-Xtreme-Shower-Tub-with-Customizable-Curtain

RVSN – https://ravasheen.com/downloads/

·       Art attack

·       Smarts content

simplisticsims - http://simplisticsims4.com

·       Basic towel rack

·       Loloi Contemporary Rugs 1

·       Ottoman

·       RHbunkbeds

·       RHshadeA

·       Roundrug

·       Vintage Country Art llb

sixiamcc - https://imfromsixam.tumblr.com/

·       Breeze of Greece

·       Oak&Concrete Kit merged

·       Artiu living chair

·       Artz

·       Home Basics

·       Home Improvement

·       Home Office

·       Hotel Bedroom

·       Luxbath

·       Retro Vibes

·       Small Spaces

·       Teen Room

Soolani – https://www.patreon.com/soolani

·       Iconic Album Art

SurelySims – https://www.patreon.com/surelysims

·       Cereal Bowl

·       Bread Box

·       Cereal Boxes

SYB – https://www.patreon.com/Syboubou

·       Galileo

·       Laundry

·       Nathalie

TaurusDesign – https://www.patreon.com/taurusdesign

·       Cassandra Bathroom

·       Eliza Walk In Closet

·       Elsa Kids Room

Clutter Cat - https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/thec...

·       222

·       Busy bee 2

·       Busy bee

·       CatMilkNo2Reloaded

·       JapanJuice

·       KawaiiKidz

·       MellowMini

·       MellowMoods

·       PetitsPirates

TUDS -https://www.patreon.com/TudTuds

·       2nd Wave Merged

·       Beam Parte2 v01 merged

·       Beam Kitchen Complete Set merged

·       Cross merged

·       Ind merged

·       Rope Lounge merged

·       Wave merged

Awingedllama – https://www.patreon.com/awingedllama

·       Apartment therapy inspired stuff v2 merged

·       Blooming Rooms Plants Merged

Wondymoon – https://www.patreon.com/wondymoon

·       Ailuropoda painting

#lizzisimss #ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 cc #sims cc #cc #sims 4 custom content #sims custom content #custom content #sims 4 cc list #sims cc list #cc list #sims 4 cc finds #sims cc finds #cc finds #sims 4 cc links #sims cc links #cc links #sims 4 build #sims 4 home #sims 4 cc build and buy #lizzisimsssavefile

[hadesbullshit]

hi hades! i have a lot of strong opinions on a couple specific spn episodes, and id love to hear your thoughts!! i will not judge for your answers, because this show fucking sucks but also its the greatest piece of media ever so any opinion is correct objectively. ok anyways

what do you think about: faith (season 1 episode 13) , roadkill (season 2 episode 16) , and playthings (season 2 episode 11)?

I'm gonna rewatch them to ansure this (bc y be normal about media when u can go ferral) but pre rewatch: Roadkill is one of my fav eps ever.

1x12 (faith is 1x12. 1x13 is Route 666 (also a very good ep as a dean charaitor study if u do want my thoughts it)):

i forgot how much i love this ep. I'm really into religious imagery in any media. dean on deaths door in the singlar reazon I'm gay /j. Sam's desperation to save Dean was always hinted at but this ep really does the "show not tell" thing right in a way most of the show doesn't. john not coming to help dean is one of the reasons i fucking hate the guy. Dean refuses to believe there is a God pre s4 because what god would put him though everything he's been though, i love him so much. the parrales between john and god with Dean's faith in an absent father.

Quotes:"i didn't pick you dean, the lord did" "why do you deserve to live more than my daughter" "it must be ruff. to belive in somerthing so much and have it disappoint you"

2x11:

of the 3 eps this is my least favourite I'm going to be honest but i still love it so much. The twist is so good. the sibling devotion, they would rather be dead together then one of them leave (Sam and Dean prrallels). "what do you mean we look the type" is iconic (Dean vs people knowing he's bi before he does). Sam's break down, begging Dean to be the one who kills him is so well done.

2x16 (this will be looooong):

when the audience learns things after Sam and Dean/the narrative isn't chronological but we think it is, it makes the twists better. Sam wanting to ease Molly into the fact she is dead vs Dean wanting to tell her straight up bc in Sam's life knowing about monsters has only ever been a burden wear as Dean (Has not met Mary yet and doesn't know she knew about deamons) thinks, as John thinks, that he would still have his family if more people knew how to protect themselves. (i might be reading to much into that part but i am a lit & media student). then after the half way point Sam wants to tell her because she thinks David is dead and that is the worst thing in the world for her whereas Dean wants to comic to lying because telling someone the truth this far in would be hard and he cant have emotional convocations to save his life (see also; Gadreel arc).

This ep is so good for rewatching it and putting into context the things Dean says. The resolution of her letting go of the loop AAAAAA.

Every motw ep in spn has a little twist in it and using the different graves to fulfil the audience expectations only to pull the rug out from underneath with the "Molly is ALSO a ghost" .

The enphisis on the idea people are not born monsters especially in relation to Sam. "what ever it is, they just hold on too tight. caught in the same loop" (sam talking about the ghost but also him and Jessica (among others)) and "something happened to them. something they couldn't control" (sam with his whole being a deamon & yellow eyes' army in s2) bc Sam in the early seasons is insane and so full of self loathing.

The question of what happens to monsters after they die (and people) being uninsurable, beng afraid of death and the unknown feels like a nod towards s3 with dean waiting to die having no idea what will happen. "hope is kinda the whole point" them pre hell, and pre knowning just how fucked up every is AAAAAA

#i did most this in history class btw #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #sorry sometimes i have anaylsis and sometimes I'm just insane baout this show #hades bullshit

[oingomyboingos]

Tag 9 people you’d like to know better. I was tagged by the lovely @icannotreadcursive

Last song: spotify tells me it is Honeymoon (Forever) by Hellogoodbye, which is off of my ineffable husbands playlist. I have good omens brain rot rn 😅 accepting fic recs if u have any

Currently reading: I have been slowly churning my way thru Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia. 1950s Mexicana socialite must go investigate her cousin’s mysterious illness. the cousin lives in a spooky manor after she has married into the once-rich family of a British aristocrat, whose failed mining enterprise hangs over the town like a spectre. ALSO Tombs by Junji Ito—I very much enjoyed the title story and the one about the deep sea creature.

Currently watching: Recently finished Kingdom, and I can’t recommend it highly enough. It’s a korean period drama with zombies. The king dies while the queen is waiting to give birth, and the current heir starts a coup. What do you do if you’re from the queen’s clan and desperately want to stay in power? Why, infecting the king’s corpse and turning him into a zombie sounds like a great way to buy time until you have a new heir. The costuming is excellent (THE!!!!! HATS!!!!!!) and the characters are genuinely so likeable.

also going apeshit for star trek lower decks

Current obsession: I blame david tenant’s wonderful acting because after bingeing good omens 3 times in the past few weeks I have now returned to doctor who and am attempting to watch the 13th doctor. it’s fine. not the best quality writing. Im curious to see where this “lone cyberman” plot goes. the evil microplastics episode was silly. i want to know more about “ruth.” i liked the mary shelley bits, but I am slightly put off by the writers not letting thirteen think on the fly. ten always used to come up with these crazy schemes in the moment. meanwhile, in the mary shelley episode, they keep asking thirteen for help and she goes “yeah my brain isn’t working right now check back later.” like, hm. I don’t like the written in incompetence. or perhaps it’s the phrasing/set up of it that’s getting to me? it’s not that there weren’t challenges that were tough for ten, but the writers’ hand wasn’t so….evident? it always felt like big time lord brain working on the problem. now it’s as if they’re telling us “hush we haven’t gotten there yet so just deal with her being dumb no we will not give you more info yet or a satisfying reason for her to act this way.” i’m also not the biggest fan of the whole “oh look at me i’m talking to myself” jokes. I know they’re trying to make the character quirky and likeable, but the joke wasn’t funny the first time and now i’ve heard it like 8 times. save me. I have heard that her final season is better, so hopefully that’s true. I think I will be taking a break for now though so that I can watch more star trek lol

alrighty I’m supposed to tag 9 people i want to get to know better so! let’s go: @kayliflower @dolly-macabre @cosmosredshift7 @godofsickdreams @idylls-in-juniper @minecraftgender @transathenacykes @lezbfrenz @great-exhibition-of-1851

(only if u want to!)

#tag game #just jill's stuff #this is slightly old because I forgot it was in my notes app lmao