#((well... that got away from me lmao ))

[mizartz]

guarding the flock

(please consider: ghost king danny but the crown is a wolf collar)

[shalomniscient]

i just woke up, it’s 7am and i’m having thoughts about jingliu…

if there was one person on the luofu who knew jingliu the longest, it was you. not the high cloud quintet or the cloud knights, you. the daughter of jingliu’s master, and the stubborn sword champion’s personal healer. she entered your life as a gangly, hungry girl who could barely hold a sword in both hands—and now, she’s the greatest warrior the luofu has ever seen.

but more importantly, now, she’s your wife.

it seemed almost like an inevitability, that you’d fall for her. for all that she was your mother’s disciple, you didn’t see her much as children. jingliu would always be training, and you would always be studying. it was only after she became a member of the cloud knights, and you a member of the alchemy commission, that things would really start to blossom—like a lotus flower, bright and pure.

you were the only healer jingliu really trusted and even allowed to heal her. the warrior had a stubborn streak several miles wide, but perhaps it was the echo of your mother in you that had her obediently heeling to your treatments—a fact that always awed her fellow cloud knights, who teased her relentlessly about it. “whipped,” they’d say. jingliu would only grumble and grudgingly thank you, before leaving the clinic and decidedly and publicly putting every one of her squadmates on their asses during a sparring match.

but nonetheless, it is no one but jingliu who comforts you when teng xiao arrives at your door, a set of armor folded neatly in his arms, and a grim, apologetic look on his face. that night it is jingliu who sits by your side, letting you weep into her shoulder as she awkwardly and clumsily attempts to console you. grief burns through you like a wildfire, but jingliu is there, her presence soothing and cool like moonlight. you both fall asleep tangled in each other’s arms, finding that, if nothing else, there is comfort in shared loss.

the next morning, you ask her about it as you both still hold each other close. jingliu’s mouth opens and closes, struggling to choose the right words. “i swore to her that i’d protect you,” she answers. it makes you smile, just a little, even if grief still twists sharply in your heart.

“you’re protecting me by cuddling me?” you tease her, and her pale cheeks flush.

“that’s— i believed you might have needed—“ she stammers, and you cut her off by pressing closer against her cool body.

“i’m just teasing,” you whisper against her skin, arms tightening around her muscular form. as if to ground yourself, as if to assure yourself that she’s really here. “i appreciate it, jingliu. thank you.”

at your words, the warrior relaxes. her voice is barely higher than yours when she replies, tinged with a hint of tenderness. “of course.”

jingliu is different, after that. you guess that it’s because you are all she has left—much the same in how she is all you have left. there is a gentle awkwardness to her now, like someone who has never known how to be soft trying to learn for the first time. she sits patiently as she lets you fuss over her wounds, knowing that you need this, that you need to know she’s alright. she only looks away when you get a little too close, when she can feel the warmth of your breath on her skin, and she hopes you don’t notice (you do).

she comes to the house whenever she can, which feels just a little emptier without your mother’s commanding presence. she stands shoulder to shoulder next to you at the counter making dumplings, her rough, battle-scarred hands dwarfing your own more delicate ones—but she wraps the dumplings with finesse all the same. you eat them together, quietly, but the silence is comfortable. you know each other enough that words are unnecessary. these nights you can only ever fall asleep in her arms—and she can only ever fall asleep in yours. neither of you question it, but what is there to question anyway?

jingliu ends up being many of your firsts—including your first kiss. it happens on one of those nights, tangled in each other’s arms, with nothing but a sliver of moonlight to illuminate jingliu’s pale face. you feel her pulse jump under your touch, as your thumb traces the ridge of her cheekbones and your lips press gently against hers. kissing her is nothing grand, no fireworks or butterflies—just the quiet sense of finally coming home.

jingliu is your first time, too. her hands trail down your body with reverence, lips pressing kisses like prayers against your skin. she brings you to the edge of heaven with her fingers and her mouth until you lie boneless on the sheets. she kisses you while your essence is still smeared across her lips, and you eagerly return the favor.

jingliu is your first and only love. it’s the soft, quiet kind, more of a respite than a whirlwind in and of itself. a shelter where both of you can return to, when the world becomes too much. you’re there for each other at the lowest lows and the highest highs—jingliu attends the ceremony as you’re sworn in as the cauldron master of the alchemy commission, eyes trained only on you as you accept the honor. and you attend jingliu’s ascenscion ceremony for the title of sword champion, standing at the forefront of the crowd, a proud smile on your face. to jingliu, that is her true victory.

and yet, even as the sword champion, there are still things she fears—like telling you she loves you. it takes a grand amount of coaxing from her new friends—a blacksmith, a high elder, and a pilot, respectively—before she works up the courage. she whispers it against your neck one moonlit night, intertwined with you in the sheets. her voice trembles ever so slightly, her breath fanning unevenly against your skin, and she tenses when you laugh softly. but the tension bleeds out of her immediately when you say it back, and she slumps against you, as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders.

(baiheng and yingxing later force her to buy them drinks, and she does so, grudgingly. after all, they were right when they said there was no way you’d say anything other than ‘i love you too’. dan feng only attends for the free alcohol, but he is happy for her nonetheless.)

your marriage is a quiet affair—or as quiet as it can get, with baiheng and yingxing together on the guestlist. but it is perfect, to you and jingliu. the rings were crafted by yingxing, inlaid with stones baiheng discovered along the trailblaze. neither of you actually wear them on your fingers due to your jobs, but none other than dan feng gifts the both of you corded red rope to loop the rings through and wear as a necklace. it becomes your greatest treasure, even centuries down the line.

the next few months of your life are calm and routine—until jingliu returns home one day with a teenager, of all things. the boy has long, shaggy, white hair, and curious golden eyes. He reminds you of a cat.

“this is jing yuan,” jingliu introduces to you. “my disciple.”

the boy greets you politely, before jingliu sends him off to an empty room in your home for him to claim as his own. once the boy is out of sight, you turn to jingliu, quirking a brow.

“disciple?”

she nods. “yes. i believe he has potential.”

you only hum at her answer, stepping forward to fix her collar. she lets you fuss, as you always have, and then presses her lips against yours gently, her hands on your waist. “trust me,” she whispers, and you do.

jing yuan fits into your life more easily than you expected. a sharp-witted young man, quick with a blade but even quicker with his words. it isn’t long before you grow fond of him as well—in an almost parental sort of way. before you realise, you start fussing over him the way you fuss over jingliu. it seems you’re not the only one susceptible to jing yuan’s charm, since the newly formed high cloud quintet adore him just as much—baiheng, especially, is delighted to have another little brother figure besides yingxing. jingliu is no exception; the pride in her gaze as she watches jing yuan train is visible to anyone.

nowadays, your home feels fuller. it is no longer just you and hingliu making dumplings—another pair of hands, sometimes even another three appear to help. the dinner table is full more often than not, and there always seems to be more plates in the sink. sometimes you find purple fur on the floor, or the occasional jade-like scale in between your couch cushions. but joy, you learn, is fleeting. nnd no one ever notices it is here until it is gone, ripped from your hands before you can even blink.

jingliu is your first and only love. she is also your first and only heartbreak.

everything you’ve built with jingliu over the course of centuries crumbles in a matter of days. the battle against shuhu is vicious. you can barely even keep up against the constant stream of injured that flood the alchemy commission. you and your colleagues down energising pill after energising pill to stay on your feet and support the xianzhou forces. tet the news from the frontline would nonetheless bring you to your knees.

baiheng, dead. yingxing, cursed. dan feng, imprisoned. and worst of all—

jingliu, mara-struck.

the ten lords commission keep her under strict watch in a holding cell. you barely have the time to visit, what with the number of patients that demand your attention. jing yuan is the one who visits her, by his authority as the new arbiter general. he speaks to you when he can, updates you on her condition—but you’ve treated enough cases to know when something is bad, even if jing yuan tries to assuage you with purposefully vague wording.

she barely recognises you when you approach her. her beautiful ruby eyes are covered by a ragged, black cloth. thick, metal bindings encircle her wrists and restrain her arms behind her back. you call her name, quietly, gently, trying your hardest to stifle the tremble in your voice. sometimes, there is a flicker of recognition. most of the time, there is nothing.

you return to an empty house. it’s so, so cold, and your bed is far too big. you hold tightly to your ring, praying that jingliu be spared this fate. but the aeon does not listen.

because no more than a few months later, jingliu breaks free from her confinement, and rampages across the luofu. smoke chokes the air as ice and frigid wind sweeps across the epicenter that is jingliu. but instead of running away, you run towards her. the ice seems to part and melt before you as you run. you need to see her.

instead, all you witness is the majesty of the lightning lord, as he strikes down your beloved.

nothing remains of jingliu. they find no body, not even any remnants of armor or personal effects. after that, they strike her name from every record for her dishonor. all her achievements, her victories—erased. as if she never existed. you are forced to resign as cauldron master in shame, with your apprentice dan shu taking your place.

you feel… nothing. only a pervasive, parasitic emptiness spreading through your entire being. you spend your days in a bed in a guest room—you can’t bring yourself to set foot in the room you once shared with her. the kitchen lies deserted. you barely feel hunger or thirst, or any sort of sensation. and yet, you keep living. your cells respire and your lungs draw breath, and your heart still thumps in your chest—even as your soul rots and decays.

the only thing—or person, rather—that stirs you now somewhat is jing yuan. he has lost everyone too, this general who will always be that curious-eyed boy to you. you do your best to pick yourself up; if not for yourself, then for him.

(but jing yuan knows. he sees it in your eyes, the truth of the matter. the guilt that gnaws at you, that compels you to keep fussing over him.

you think that caring for him will help you atone for the way you failed jingliu. he wants to tell you that his master would’ve never thought such a thing. but he doesn’t, and lets you mother him all the same.

he needs this too.)

jing yuan appoints you as his personal healer, even as his advisors protest. they question your ability—after all, how could a good healer not even mend the one she loved most?

that moment is the first and last time you ever see jing yuan angry. it fades as quickly as it comes, however, and you are appointed as his personal healer nonetheless. you remain by his side for the next few centuries, watching as he grows more and more into the role of the general. the pain of your loss doesn’t heal—not fully, at least, but it scabs over.

still, you can’t help the ache in your chest when jing yuan approaches you one day, a young boy at his heels.

“this is my disciple, yanqing,” he introduces. the boy has flaxen hair, and expressive amber eyes. there’s a fire in them, a determination that you remember seeing in a pair of ruby ones. he greets you, politely and a little shyly.

it’s a painfully familiar scene, and the best you can manage is a wordless smile.

yanqing becomes another target of your fussing soon enough. he squirms when you check him over for injuries, insisting that he’s fine. the boy is incorrigibly stubborn. but in the end, he is still a boy. his enthusiasm, unmarred by grief and loss, brings a liveliness to your monotone life. you can’t help but sneak a few more extra strales into his pockets for swords when jing yuan isn’t looking.

(but he knows. jing yuan always knows.)

you are not happy, not truly, not without her, never without her, but for now you are content. the boys in your life give you reason enough to keep going.

yet your life turns upside down once more when the stellaron bursts on the luofu. jing yuan keeps you away from the whirlwind of conflict, assigning an elite squad of his knights to guard your house. it makes you curious, but the answer reveals itself to you only a few days after the crisis is resolved.

there, standing amidst the unconscious bodies of the cloud knights supposed to guard you, is none other than the ghost of your beloved.

she’s as beautiful as the day you lost her.

[starry-bi-sky]

ty for contributing to the wasteland that is appreciating bruce as a parent and first child danny🙏🙏🙏

It’s a battle out here soldier but I am strong, like winter bear. Also I relate so hard to Bruce in a lot of ways and I think his initial concept is really neat. He tries his damn hardest, and he has so much hope for his city that it’s really admirable.

And as much fun as it is to poke fun at him for his questionable parenting and hypocrisy, there’s always the line of too much that the fandom tends to cross quite often, just as much as they do with the clone and ghost king stuff. Bruce is just as much of a good parent (or at least a trying one) as he is a bad one, and people tend to ignore his good qualities for the sake of a joke. His character is centered around the fact that he cares, he’s just truly shit at communicating it — which, cheers bro, I’ll drink to that.

And there’s already a ton of batfam prompts and aus out there where Danny shows up when the whole colony is already adopted, which means most of the attention goes to Danny bonding with the other siblings and having very little to do with Bruce. He’s kinda just. There. Whether that be as a prop or an antagonist or someone to point and laugh at. Which, I can’t blame people too much for — the cast is so big it’s hard to keep track of relationships and stuff.

However, I think it’s important for Danny to have some form of relationship with Bruce too and not them just be strangers, especially in a familial/platonic setting where Danny is joining the family.

They share a handful of qualities that I think would mesh well together — Danny’s canonically a pessimist while Bruce is a diehard optimist (you kinda have to be to be a hero in a place like Gotham, and he wouldn’t be Batman if he wasn’t) and they both believe in giving people second chances and have wells of compassion to tap into. Danny’s clever and resourceful, and one of his main character traits is that he’s got an iron will.

All in all, good dad bruce go brrrrr and oldest son danny is the perfect, underutilized concept to explore exactly that without distractions. I think they could get along like a house on fire, if given the opportunity.

[sugarcarnation]

thinking about how ultimately it was dazai who was too sentimental to stay in the mafia

[xejune]

doodle idea: Bruce cookin up something good?

he's cooking a mystery camping soup (no one but him knows exactly whats in it but it's tasty!)

[its-alittleobsessed]

Orpheus and Eurydice but it's Dean and Castiel coming out of the empty. Jesus Christ. JESUS. is there a fic like that?

Like imagine Dean, smack dab in the middle of nothing. Pitch black for miles and miles and the empty speaks to him, says, "I'll give him back on one condition."

And Dean nodding, desperate to it, "Anything."

And the empty smiles, though it doesn't have a face or body or soul, Dean can hear it smile, can feel it in the molecules around him, when it says, "Do not look back."

There's a small light at the end of nothing, so miniscule it looks like a grain of rice. The empty points it out, commands, "Go."

And Dean doesn't move. The grain of rice is so small and it is so quiet around him. "Go?"

"Yes, go."

The empty is nothing. It is nothing in nothing. A black hole sucking up another black hole—that is what the empty is. Dean’s inside it, inside the hole inside another hole, looking for a guy who shines brighter than the sun on a cloudless day. 

It’s so fucking quiet. Dean shakes his head, “I don’t—”

“You don’t trust that I’ve placed him behind you?” The empty snarls, groans, and festers, “You don’t trust that he’ll follow you?”

The first step he takes is heavy. It weighs and echoes across the great expanse of hollowness. It is not followed by another immediate step. He is the only thing breathing, the only noise rising, and he asks, because he has to know, “Cas?”

There is no reply. 

“He’s behind you.” The empty assures. There’s a tilt to its voice like it might be lying. Or maybe it’s amused. Dean can’t tell, his heart’s beating too loudly in his ears to tell the difference. 

The second, third, and fourth steps are just as earth quaking as the first. He walks—drags his feet below him, closer to the blinding light leading them home, still so far away, still the size of a mere flame. 

“It was really fucked up. What you did.” Dean says, because he can’t look, and he can’t hear, but he can still talk. “What kind of an asshole does that? What kind of a—” He swallows, keeps a steady rhythm foot after foot, “You said. What you said. Why’d you say it?”

He’d practiced this in his room a few times. What he’d say if he ever saw Cas again. At least then, the walls would hum back. They'd stare back and hold him up if he couldn’t keep his knees from buckling. But here, in this vacuum, what is there to rely on? 

“Thought I was dyin’. ” Dean confesses, the light has turned into the size of a dime, and he keeps staring it down, determined, “Watchin’ you get taken, I mean. Felt like—felt like you took my heart with you down here, y’know?” 

There aren’t any footsteps behind him. There’s no flutter of wings or exhale or exasperated sigh. He’s—he feels alone. 

“Couldn’t go on without you, man. S’why I’m here.” Why is it so fucking quiet? Dean wasn’t this quiet when Cas said his piece. He’d been frozen, maybe, but not quiet. Never quiet. “I—I need you to be there. I can’t—don’t know how I’m supposed to go on if you aren't there.”

The empty’s stopped replying, too. The rice turned into dime and now it’s the size of a baseball and it’s still so fucking. Hollow. And the empty likes to play games doesn’t it? Likes to trick poor schmucks like Dean who are desperate hopeful bastards. 

With Cas in the room, there’d be electricity around them. A spark of something. But now, Jesus, now, there isn’t—the air’s so fucking stiff and horrible. 

Dean reaches an arm back, still walking, “Gimme your hand.” 

No one touches him.

“Empty didn’t say nothin’ about skin on skin, man. C’mon.” His steps stutter and his hand shakes, “C’mon.”

The light is the size of a window. He’s getting closer—no, no, no they’re getting closer. Both of them. ‘Cause Cas is there. He’s right there. He’s—

“I just wanna know you’re okay.” He looks at the ground, tries to cheat, tries to find another set of feet with his peripheral vision. “M’not leavin’ without you, you dick. So you better—you better gimme a fuckn’ sign or I’ll stay here. Forever if I gotta.”

His voice doesn’t even bounce off the fucking walls. There are no walls. Or feet or breaths or hands touching his own. There is no answer to any of his questions. And he stretches his arm as far as it can go behind him, as far as his broken muscles can, he begs, “Please, Cas.”

The light has grown to the size of a door and it’s too quiet. Too vacant and blank. So unlike Cas at the end of everything. And Dean can’t leave—he can’t just—he came here for someone and if he’s not—if this is a trick then, then—

“Please.” 

One more step. That’s all he needs. He’s one step away, just one, but Cas isn’t answering. He isn’t answering or touching Dean’s hand and the empty lies.

It’s too quiet, the empty lies, and Dean can’t leave without him. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t and the door is right there, it’s right there but Dean can’t leave, he can’t leave ‘cause Cas isn’t behind him, he was never behind him, and he turns, oh God, Dean turns around and—

Cas smiles, that soft deep smile of his that edges on a little sad, he tilts his head, so loving and forgiving, “I love you too.”

And then he’s gone. Ripped away one more time.

[b4kuch1n]

sunstroll

[tsutsumi-kurose]

Do you have any Tsukasa analyses?

hi!! thank you sm for the ask!! i love tsukasa analyses, so i was really excited to get this!! there is a small/specific thing i've been thinking about with regards to a couple tsukasa moments recently, and that is:

tsukasa and some not-so-rhetorical questions

there are two specific instances i've been thinking about recently of tsukasa asking typically rhetorical questions in a genuine way. the first time happens in chapter 91. when hanako and nene ask tsukasa how he got to them and why he was there, he asks "who cares?"

i find it really interesting that this question comes before tsukasa asks a long series of hard hitting questions about nene's lifespan, hanako's wish, and destroying the yorishiros. he's asking very real, actionable questions! and this question is grouped in with them! so while "who cares?" is typically a very throwaway question, coming from tsukasa in this moment, i read it as having much more weight. i think tsukasa is experiencing the feeling of that in a very real way. especially given the context of more recent chapters ("he doesn't come when i call," "if you want out, you're going to have to do the best you can by yourself," etc.) while this question may come across as flippant, tsukasa must truly be wondering: "genuinely, who cares where i've been? how or why i'm here? genuinely, do either of the two of you care what i'm up to? you're worried about nene's lifespan and the yorishiros. who he cares about how i got here or why? i have no reason to believe you do." i don't think it's a stretch to think that a boy whose calls for help don't get answered would genuinely wonder: who cares?

and with all the context of 91 up to now, i love to read this question in 110 as a genuine question from tsukasa that hanako hears as rehtorical, and flippant:

"so?" asked so briefly and bluntly is often a rhetorical question: more a statement of "that doesn't matter" or "i don't care." and from hanako's perspective, he has just poured his heart out. he's just said, "yes i could have anything in the whole world, but then i wouldn't have you." to him, this surely must seem like a logical fill in of, "I wouldn't trade you for anything."

but this is tsukasa. tsukasa, who has spent god knows how many years calling out for amane with no response. tsukasa, who knows the following to be fact: 1) hanako knows tsukasa is his yorishiro. 2) hanako has been working to destroy all the yorishiros. thus, the logic from the facts tsukasa has would say that hanako prefers to be without tsukasa. of course he'll be confused that hanako's words suggest he doesn't want to be apart when all he's done with his actions is keep tsukasa away from himself!

it's not surprising, then, that he would want an explanation of how these things connect. the facts tsukasa has say amane doesn't care about him and is prepared to destroy him. so of course amane saying "i wouldn't give you up for anything" is not going to compute, that seems like almost an exact contradiction to the facts tsukasa is working with. the "so?" here is the same question tsukasa's been asking since 1968 in chapter 101: "you'd prefer it if i stayed here, right, amane? or would you rather me gone?" tsukasa thought he had the answer, but now amane's saying the opposite.

i love this panel, because it reads as so hopeful. i really read this as tsukasa wanting to know more about why amane is hung up on never seeing tsukasa again. how often does tsukasa ever want anything for himself? other than to know how someone is feeling? and this moment feels significantly softer than other times he's asked similar things. tsukasa's always asking: what are you thinking? what are you feeling? amane, are you happy to see me? so i think he's genuinely asking here: why would that be a problem? i interpret this panel as tsukasa really, genuinely asking amane to explain that he cares about him, that he wants to be with him. because he has nothing to go off of to prove that that's the case. are you happy to see me, amane? so what if you can never see me again, amane?

to get really specific, i love the lighting in tsukasa's eyes in this panel. his eyes are mostly in shadow, but there's just a bit of light at the tops of them; his irises are almost all black, but there's a little bit of light flooding in at the bottom. because i love to torture myself with tsukasa angst (lol), i like to interpret this specific lightning choice as representing understanding beginning to dawn for tsukasa. a literal flicker of hope. maybe... amane does care about him? maybe amane does want him around? he might just be starting to understand that amane cares, but he needs it explained more, needs it spelled out. hanako's actions have not suggested this is true, so all he can go off of are hanako's words. he needs more words from hanako to make it make sense. so? why would that matter? he's starting to get it, but he has to ask, especially since it goes against all the other signs he's been given.

but, of course, hanako is hanako/amane is amane (i love him but he does win worst communicator for more than fifty years running <3 lmao) so he takes this as a rejection, and doles out his own in return, not hearing the request tsukasa is making, thus affirming what tsukasa already thought: that he hates tsukasa.

the mix of light and dark is gone from tsukasa'a eyes after hanako says "i hate you so much."

his face and eyes are flush with light--with clarity. i know you hate me, amane. no more doubt, no more questions, no more hope.

i'm obsessed with the angst of this entire interaction, and tsukasa asking, "so?" is the hinge it all rests on. the moment of suspension.

here's their chance. here is tsukasa wanting to understand why hanako isn't going through with the plan just because the two of them would never see each other again. here is hanako's chance to explain that he cares.

but it can't line up, not expressed like this. not with "do you love me?" tsuakasa and "of course!" amane. not when they're both so sure their love for the other is obvious, not when they both hear rejection in everything. not when they've both come to expect loneliness as a default, to the point where the other caring about them is never the logical conclusion in their eyes, no matter how obvious their love for the other seems to themselves.

here is a beginning, here in tsukasa's eyes, in his question. but both of them are only ever expecting an end.

(this analysis of tsukasa's eyes in this interaction also connects to the seed of a larger theory i want to explore more soon, which is the possibility that tsukasa's eyes going black isn't necessarily--or at least not exclusively--about the entity's powers taking over, but rather/additionally a reflection of his emotional state... but then that also ties into the really long post i'm trying to wrangle into coherence about tsukasa being genuinely tsukasa... so i may have to elaborate on that another time lol)

thank you again for the ask!! i really love diving into all the possible meanings behind specific/small moments, so i had a lot of fun with this!!

[threeofeight]

So remember when I did an Xbox Lcars Warehouse 13 star trek AU wallpaper.

Remember how the hyperfocus didn't stop.

Brand new shiny crisp logo.

What to do with that now it's been improved?

That is right! Custom made lock and screen that has it work around my finger print scanner, times and dates, widgets etc.

Cool done... it's still there. The focus.

WELL GUESS IM JUST LCARSING UP ALL MY TECH NOW.

[eefaevie]

✨ my official good omens s3 prediction post ✨

which accidentally I guess comes with a side-order of analysis and a soupçon of meta because I can’t shut up

The quote "The plans for Armageddon are going wrong. Only Crowley and Aziraphale working together can hope to put it right. And they aren’t talking." is intentionally misleading.

I think with Aziraphale gone, Crowley is going to become Grand Duke of Hell. He’s hurt, he’s tired, he’s got nothing to lose anymore. He’s also a bit of a dramatic petty bitch (affectionate), and after suffering what he considers the ultimate betrayal from Aziraphale, he wants to hit him where it would hurt equally by joining the “bad guys” fully. Crowley thinks of himself as unforgivable, and since (in his mind) Aziraphale refuses to “see” him for who he really is, he’s going to force him to by acting out like this (beside the fact that we know that this isn’t actually who Crowley is, but he’s injured and lashing out, even if it hurts himself, too.)

So, that quote. The plans for armageddon are going wrong. as in heaven can’t get it to start. And the only way they CAN get it to start is to get the Grand Duke of Hell and the Supreme Archangel to work together, which they are refusing to do. Think about all those meetings between Gabriel and Beelzebub — those definitely didn’t start off as dates, they were business meetings. And so Aziraphale and Crowley REFUSE to speak to each other (with MAXIMUM pettiness and passive aggressive comedy) because they’re both mad at each other for their mutual miscommunication, but also because they KNOW that if they do work together they’ll end up fucking it up somehow (and actually set the second coming back on track, which they obviously don’t want). The one thing that is a common thread through Good Omens is that Aziraphale and Crowley are actually kind of useless at their jobs, and they usually end up accomplishing the opposite of whatever it is they are supposed to do. Aziraphale is still in the grip of heaven, and can be manipulated — while Crowley is probably still terrified of Satan, and now that he’s kind of recklessly agreed to such a big promotion, that’s now his immediate superior.

(So really, if you’re useless at your job, and consistently do everything wrong, and you’re trying to stop a massive project — the best place to be would probably be in charge of that project, no?)

So anyways, cue Muriel being used for the most immature go-betweens (“Muriel, dear, please tell the Grand Duke that I won’t be able to make our dinner reservation this evening because he is a lying snake.” “Muriel, tell the Supreme Arseangel that I never made the reservation anyways and his holiestness was presumptuous to assume so.” etc etc)

I’m also betting that the Metatron orchestrated his offer to Aziraphale very intentionally, because he knows that they’re each other’s most precious thing, and he knew that raising Crowley would be the best possible offer to get Aziraphale to agree, but also, he knew that Crowley himself would never agree to it. Which left Aziraphale in a tricky position. He’s still too afraid of heaven to back out, and by separating him from Crowley, the Metatron thinks he has succeeded in both eliminating the biggest threat to the second coming (the earth’s only professional apocalypse-thwarters with extremely powerful joint miracles) and planted (what he believes to be) a huge pushover of an angel in the seat of power — essentially a puppet for the Metatron’s commands.

(I’m not even going to get into the alleged threat of the book of life at this point, but that’s it own big bag of worms)

Problem is, the Metatron severely underestimated how much these two are idiots, how far they’re willing to go for love (or how far they’ll go when they believe their love has been scorned), and again, I cannot stress this enough — how much they’re both idiots.

Crowley accepting the position of Grand Duke seems out of character, until you realize it absolutely is not. (The same thing goes for Aziraphale accepting the position of Supreme Archangel, btw.) With everything else happening, it’s going to be effectively Crowley’s only option — Aziraphale is gone, the second coming is coming, and there’s a convenient little vacancy at the top of Hell’s hierarchy. He’ll take it because he’s upset and hurt by Aziraphale, but he’ll also take it because he’s angry, and it’s the only way he can possibly have any impact on what happens next.

I’d go so far as to say that Crowley loves Earth primarily because he loves Aziraphale, and Aziraphale loves Earth. Crowley is always the one to suggest running away when the going gets tough, because his top priority is always Aziraphale’s safety. If the Earth ends up a casualty, well, boohoo, at least he’s got his Angel with him. Now, though, he’s got no Aziraphale — so what’s the point in sticking to Earth? Remember how he pretty much immediately gave up on stopping the apocalypse when he thought Aziraphale was dead? Yeah. (In fact, he probably realizes very quickly that if he wants any hope of having Aziraphale back and sharing their lives together — this time for real — he has to take drastic measures to make sure Earth and humanity survives. He’s an optimist, and he’s also selfish.)

So, surprise, Metatron! You just took these two will-they-won’t-they eternal virgins and made them business partners. Which is an issue.

Because remember, for one supreme archangel to fall in love with the grand duke of hell during dubious business meetings makes a good story. For it to happen twice makes it look like there is some kind of… institutional problem.

We’ve taken the “workplace” in “workplace comedy” and dialled it up to 12. Now it’s not two salarymen from rival companies just kinda begrudgingly doing what they’re told until they don’t, it’s two high-ranking executives from rival companies who’ve decided they’re in love with each other, they’re done with this shit, and they’re taking the whole industry down from the inside.

Never forget that Good Omens is, at its core, a comedy. I believe we will get the romantic south down ending, for sure, but the path to get there is going to be a farce. They’re not talking — perhaps only in the business sense — so who knows the hijinks and shenanigans and making out they’re going to make everyone around them put up with this season. Aziraphale orchestrated an entire Jane Austen ball for Crowley before they’d even touched mouths. They’re going to be insufferable and I’m praying for Muriel’s sanity.

Finally, the final element of my prediction: Jesus will be there, probably. Maybe even Adam, too! Maybe it’ll even be lost celestial baby pt. 2: electric boogaloo. (as you can see my priorities are mostly regarding what happens with Aziraphale and Crowley lmao)

(and also, you know that dinky little half miracle they pulled together for jimbo? They were a couple of nobodies then. Imagine a full-powered joint miracle between a Supreme Archangel and a Grand Duke?)

(…Imagine a full-powered joint miracle between two supreme archangels and two grand dukes? 👀 ok ok who knows but also I’m not convinced we’ve seen the last of beez and gabe)

ok bye ❤️

[omppupiiras]

kä crew but make it simpsons 😎

[roseofcards90]

The fact that people were so willing to completely dismiss what happened in After Pain and Harrow after they saw It's Not My Fault and Deep Cover paint Mu and Kotoko in a worse light really shows that some people don't have literary comprehension 😭

[artsycooky13]

top 3 fave bbys in the burrito show (bonus SUPER LONG tags on how i feel bout the characters)

[raineandsky]

For Old Time's Sake

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

“It’ll take a few days to ease the pain,” Skat says with a light smile. “A few weeks to heal entirely.”

Skat’s home—or so the prince assumes—is nothing like he’s used to. Wooden floors, slatted roof, bed of straw. Is this really how the majority live? How the hell do they do this? As much as the thought of home makes him sick, he does miss his luxurious quilts.

“Thank you,” the prince says not entirely genuinely. If the old knight has a time frame on his recovery, his chances of slipping away unnoticed are slim. Unfairly so. “I appreciate you not trying to sell me or anything.”

Skat laughs, the sound flattened by the dull walls. A laugh like that probably echoed in the walls of the castle, back in the day. “I still have to hold Gvette off yet,” he says brightly. He unrolls a slice of bandage, popping a bottle open from the bedside table. “She’ll warm up to you, though, I’ve no doubt.”

Gvette disappeared into the woods yesterday to wash the prince’s bloodstained clothes. Not voluntarily, mind—Skat had had to ask her to help several times before she begrudgingly grabbed them and made a show of dragging them along the floor on the way out.

The prince tries and fails to hold back a wince as Skat goes about carefully changing the bandage. The clean fabric, cooled by whatever the healing stuff is from that bottle, is what he imagines heaven must feel like. The old knight sighs in relief as he tosses the old bandage into the bin.

“Can’t help but ask, if you don’t mind it,” he starts slowly, “why’d you leave?”

The prince rolls the edge of the blanket between his fingers, his gaze fixed on the way it waves back and forth under his control like the ocean. “Why did you?”

There’s a moment of silence where the prince risks glancing up at Skat. He gives the boy a blank stare, blinking absently, before breaking into another laugh.

“Yeah, a’ight, touché.” He shakes his head, adjusting idly on his little bedside stool. “Don’t think you’d like my answer much, though.”

“I doubt you'd like mine either.”

“Well,” the man says with a grin, “how abouts this—I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours. I assume we’re somewhat in the same boat to both be out here, huh?”

It makes sense. Whyever the old man is out here can’t be too different from the prince, right? They both ran from the throne. Both escaped into the wilderness. Both– well, whether Skat ended up in a bear trap as well is a mystery.

“I’ll admit, your father made some poor choices,” he continues. He snivels shortly, dropping his gaze to the floor by the bed. “I couldn’t find it within myself to support a king I didn’t share beliefs with. They were big differences too—it wasn’t just a disagreement on the colour of the curtains. I couldn’t work knowing that what I did brought about terrible things.”

The king isn’t known for his kindness. His entire family isn’t. The prince knows this the best of anyone.

“That’s me,” Skat says with a deep sigh, like it’s a relief to be off his chest. “Your turn, kid.”

The prince opens his mouth, but words refuse to come out. It feels like he’s confessing some great sin to a priest—too much to the wrong person. Easy information to put in the wrong hands.

“It’s a’ight lad,” the old knight adds after a moment. His voice is soft, gentle. “I won’t tell a soul.”

That feeling, that lingering it’s dangerous to show dissent still rings at the back of the prince’s mind. But the man won’t tell anyone. Of course he won’t. They’re a world away from the dangers of the palace here.

So the prince sucks in a deep breath, steels his nerves, and recounts his story.

(next part)

Taglist: @bushfairy

[cranberrymoons]

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[throwawayasoiafaccount]

magic in asoiaf is genetic. and that is intresting. and the fact that grrm doesn’t shy away from the implications of this makes me love asoiaf even more.

because it’s very understandable that these people who could ride dragons would see themselves as more gods than men. it’s understandable that the practice of sibling-sibling incest would become common in order to keep this ability in the family/to not lose said ability. it’s also understandable that these people would see their race as superior because they are able to do these things that others could not.

it also makes complete sense that this human civilization collapsed in a horrific magical event due to their own hubris because they saw themselves as gods when they were always only men.

and that is peak world building.

some more peak world building is that the noble houses of westeros also clearly gained power and held onto their power through the use of their magical abilities inherited from their ancestors.

a godlike existence like Garth the Green being the ancestor of all the oldest and most noble of the reach houses makes perfect sense for this world!and it also makes sense that the lords without this ancestry are discriminated against in this region that still holds onto the values their society cultivated in the past in order to maintain their magical superiority, even though most of these noble and old houses no longer exhibit these abilities.

and it also makes sense that these people no longer have access to these abilities as they no longer practice the religion that was centered around these powers; plus their blood is simply diluted at this point as these houses have married into a different ethnic group so often that the magical gene just doesn’t surface anymore.

but the fact that it still matters if you can trace your ancestry back to Garth the Green? peak! peak! peak!

george does such an excellent job showcasing the stagnation of westerosi society here because why should it matter if you’re connected to this magic guy if magic is no longer commonplace? however, it also makes total sense that the ruling class of the reach still harps on and on about this as it’s how they maintain the status quo and differentiate themselves from those they consider lesser now that they no longer have access to magic themselves.

and this is also why it’s very important that the Starks still retain the blood of the first men. because the first men interbred with the children of the forest and other elder races, which is what gave these humans these powers. it’s also worth noting that before the direwolves connected with the Stark children, none of our current Starks were able to awaken their abilities by themselves, which shows that even now they are very far removed from their ancestor who’s genetic makeup gave this bloodline these abilities. and it makes sense that the Starks experienced this slow magical decline because magic itself was declining in the world after the doom of valyria.

another reason for this decline is because Andal culture started heavily influencing the North and slowly changed the way magic was perceived. so now in the present, a warg/skinchanger/greenseer has become something to fear being because that’d make you different and therefore puts your life at risk, which means that there’s now practically no safe environment to cultivate these abilities and no secure way to pass down any knowledge you do have about said abilities.

i can’t help but be reminded about how Jon Snow has rejected his nature and how that has led to the stagnation of his abilities, and then i think about Arya and Bran and how their new environments have led to an astonishing growth in their abilities, which shows that it’s not just genetics that matter, environment is also just as, if not more, important.

i bring all of this up because magic being genetic in asoiaf is not as problematic as people try to make it out as. in real life, sometimes people just have genetic gifts. some people can become olympians, and some people are disabled. some people are born 10 times smarter than the average human, and some people believe that covering their faces in lemon juice would turn them invisible. that is reality. and in this universe, some people have access to magic and some don’t, and it’s all based on genetics. it’s unfair! and that makes it realistic.

not everyone gets to ride dragons and not everyone gets to travel back in time, and that grounds asoiaf, which is what grrm was going for.

and how these societies have organized themselves in response to these genetic abilities and the dangers they pose makes absolute sense. on one hand we have the valyrian freehold, which was a magic hotspot and the people who lived there used magic to propel their society to new heights, and on the other hand we have the seven kingdoms that demonize anyone too different, and all magic practitioners are different from normal humans.

and the fact that george decided to go this route with asoiaf is so juicy to me cause:

we have characters like Varamyr and Euron who use their abilities to commit great evils and we know that their powers have influenced the way they see and interact with others. on the other hand we have characters like Dany who use their abilities to fight against evil violent institutions. and through characters like her we learn how vulnerable fledgling magic practitioners/characters with these abilities are to these older and more dangerous institutions and individuals who are perfectly aware about the knowledge gap between them and these younger characters and know exactly how to exploit them.

so, while it’s understandable that the fandom is uncomfy with the practices and values that grrm has written about, this isn’t bad world building by any means. it’s logical and well thought out. and i truly enjoy that grrm doesn’t shy away from writing about the more worrying aspects and implications of magic being a matter of genetics. i also like how the seven kingdoms and the valyrian freehold are kinda extremes on the matter of magic and how this is/was detrimental to both of these societies and at the individual level. a horrific magical firey doom is not any better nor any worse than a slow drawn out icey decline.

imo, what is important to remember is that in the world of asoiaf, people with magic are the ones who are discriminated against (bc most POV characters are in Westeros and magic is a no no there). so they are the ones who are in danger if they out themselves as magic users. now, it is true that some societies are more tolerant (Qarth is a great example of this and Valyria before the doom was likely the most tolerant to have ever existed in this world), but as of now most societies simply aren’t. remember jojens warning? he didn’t pull that out of his ass. bran would’ve been in a lot of danger if he came out and told the wrong people about his dreams/abilities. also, jon’s assassination may have been partly motivated by the mutineers fear of wargs. this is the life-threatening danger magic practitioners are in for simply existing in an intolerant society.

tbh the reason i typed all this up is because it’s very annoying when people try to ignore the reality, which is that the dragonbond depends on genetics. now, i’m sure there are other ways to ride a dragon, as dragons are magical animals so of course there may be a one in a million chance of a dragon allowing some rando to ride it, but this doesn’t change the fact that there is such a thing as a genetic ability that gives these certain humans the ability to form a connection with a dragon.

(another example that i can’t help but remember is that melisandre was able to get ghosts approval by using some of her tricks. of course there could be other reasons for ghost to have done this, but the most likely reason is that ghost simply fell for melisandre’s trick and this influenced how jon saw mel. but this doesn’t change the fact that melisandre will never have the kind of bond jon and ghost have because melisandre is not a warg. this is also another example of how vulnerable fledgling magic practitioners are to older ones.)

so, sorry not sorry that george decided to create a realistic representation of what a society would look like if only certain bloodlines were able to ride dragons <\3.