#And the Ivy one is accurate based on what I know of the Ivy book (because I read Julie's books but I never got around to the Ivy one)

[the-halfling-prince]

Love looking up the actresses who starred in American Girl movies back when they made those and seeing what they've been in since then.

Felicity? Yeah she starred in The Fault in Our Stars and the Divergent movies apparently.

Kit? Yeah Abigail Breslin has been in a million things because, well, it's Abigail Breslin but uh she's one of the main people in the Zombieland movies

Samantha? Can't remember anything recently but she was Leslie in Bridge to Terabithia.

Melody? She's been in so many things like Black-ish and the new Proud Family. Really making a name for herself and all that.

Grace? Olivia Rodrigo.

[batfamfucker]

Why do I see so many people not wanting the majority of Batman villains because they want a 'realistic Batman universe'. Watch the Dark Knight trilogy if you want fully realistic. I wanna see Killer Croc. I wanna see Dr Freeze. I wanna see Superman or other heroes too. If the MCU gets to have aliens and people with superpowers, so do we. Since when was DC 'realistic'. As if people are begging for a movie based on comic books and yet throw hissy fits when they take content from the comics that are 'too comic-like'. Bro what were you expecting from a new Batman universe. Batman. Who has the most known and most iconic, wacky villains. Who works on a team with superpowered beings. Are you reading Batman comics I don't know about or are you just not reading comics?

Also, I trust this new Batman universe to create a solid mix of both comic book wack and realism anyway. Do you realise how terrifying the Riddler was in The Batman? They made the whole serial killer thing so real that the first time I watched it, I genuinely was scared by the dude. The opening and the car scene where he beats Colson??? Bro watching that for the first time was traumatising. We knew who Riddler was, and we've seen so many interpretations of him, but this is the first one I've seen that I can say was actually eerie because it was realistic. It reminded me of all the true crime docs I watched, it felt so based on reality. It didn't once feel out of place, it was very grounding because it felt like it was taken from real life. Shit like that happens in real life. It was a nice change of pace to see that in a comic book film. Having said that, I'm still eagerly awaiting the villains who are less realistic, and seeing how this franchise would apply their powers to this world. They portrayed Riddler so well that I could see them doing a great job with it. Could you imagine how terrifying they could make Poison Ivy? It would be so cool.

When we see the scene of Batman walking through the crime scene in the beginning of the film, watch how everyone reacts to him, you realise how fucking strange it would be to see a dude dressed a Bat in real life. That scene was so realistic. The police's reactions were priceless. I want to see how Bruce and the public would react to an actual giant fucking talking crocodile man. I can visibly see Battinson's eyes and expression in my mind at that.

The city is flooded. It'd be a playground for Killer Croc. How many people got caught up in that water? Gotham's water, that's probably laced with chemicals and toxins. Near dangerous equipment, or whilst working in Ace chemicals? A powerplant with radiation? Or STEM students pulling all nighters in their classrooms, surrounded by serums and acids, etc. It's just been Halloween, how cold does Gotham get, being based on New York and all? How much of it would freeze? Would whole blocks become ice rinks? Would there start to be a pattern of what areas are starting to freeze over, only it doesn't look entirely natural. How would that amount of ocean water freeze that much and so quickly? It seems to be happening near pharmacies, hospitals, and science related buildings.

I want to to see Superman, fresh out of college and just starting out, landing shakily on a rooftop and offering a handshake with a shy, awkward half smile to Batman, who himself is only in his third year of being a vigilante. A truce of sorts. "I'm a fan of your ambition to help people". Whilst Bruce's mind is going a thousand miles an hour trying to process all of Superman's features and movements, trying to study him. An alien.

Bruce is very aware it's strange. I want to see him and Gotham react to how strange it is. You don't have to sacrifice either being realistic or accurate to the comics just to have one, you can have both as long as it's done well. I trust it to be done well in this franchise.

[girlactionfigure]

There's something I need to get off my chest.

I'm an Ultra-Orthodox, Chassidic, Hareidi Jew. I live in Jerusalem, in an area that is exclusively Ultra-Orthodox Hareidi for street after street, suburb after suburb, for miles and miles. In all of these neighborhoods where the roads are blocked off and no cars drive on Shabbos, each black-hat-wearing family has many many children and literally no TV’s. I personally only ever wear black and white clothes, my wife only dresses in Chassidic levels of tznius (modesty), and my boys and girls all attend mainstream Hareidi Chassidic schools where the main language is Yiddish. My kids don’t and never will have smartphones, nor have they ever been on the internet at all. Period. They don’t know what social media is and they’ve never seen a movie — not even Disney animation. 

Having lived exclusively immersed in this culture for the last 21 years, I think I'm sufficiently qualified and well-researched enough to state that the consistent depiction of Hareidim and Torah Judaism by mainstream media, from Netflix to the daily news, is somewhere between delusion, slander and the literal equivalent of racism. If you consider yourself less closed-minded than how you imagine we Hareidim to be, then permit me to share a few personal details about my family, and other families in our neighborhood, to see how well your mental narrative matches up to reality:

- Besides learning Torah each day, most of the men in our neighborhood work full or part-time.

- Many women in our area work. Some even manage their own business or company. These are not special or “liberated” women — it’s so normal here it’s not even a discussion point.

- My wife is a full-time mother by choice, who despite attending an Ivy League College,  finds it a profound and meaningful thing to dedicate her life to. If she didn’t, she’d go get a job. Mind you, she also attends Torah classes each week, works out with both a female fitness coach (who’s gay) and a frum Pilates instructor, writes and edits articles for a couple global websites and magazines, and personally mentors a number of women. None of this is seen as unusual. 

- Kids in our community go to Torah schools where they learn (surprise!) Torah. They are fluent in three languages from a young age and the boys even read and understand a fourth (Aramaic). All the kids learn grammar, math and science. Weekly after-school activities have included music (violin, drums, piano), Tae Kwon Do, swimming, art, woodworking and robotics. The girls' school teaches tools of emotional intelligence. The principal of the boys' school doesn't hesitate to refer to kids to OT if needed. I practice meditation with my children multiple times each week. None of our kids think the world is literally 6,000 years old. They devour books about science and think it’s cool. They know dinosaurs existed and don’t find that existentially threatening. They have a telescope with which they love to watch the stars. 

- The women in my family (like the men) only dress modestly according to Hareidi standards. The girls don't find this burdensome or oppressive. Period. They aren't taught that beauty is bad. They're certainly not taught to hate their bodies, God forbid. Each morning when they get dressed, they are as happily into their own fashion and looking pretty as any secular girl is. They just have a different sense of fashion than secular culture dictates. (Unfortunately for me,  it's no cheaper.)

- The local Hareidi rabbis we receive guidance from are deep, warm, sensitive, supportive and emotionally intelligent. If they weren’t, we wouldn’t go to them.

- My boys assume they will grow up to learn Torah, as much as they want to, and then when they’re ready, get a good job or learn a profession to support whatever lifestyle they choose. My girls assume they’ll be wives and mothers (which they can’t wait for) but they're also warmly encouraged to train in whatever other profession they desire. (My 9-year-old daughter, chatting with her friend in the living room, just commented, "I want to be a mother and a teacher and an artist." Her friend replied, "I'm going to be a ballet teacher.") All options are on the table, and their future seems bright.

- We love living in modern Israel, feel proud and blessed to be here, and frequently count and celebrate its blessings. Everyone in my area votes. Sometimes not even for Hareidi parties. I pay taxes. (And they’re expensive!)

- As a Hareidi person, I’m glad we have Hareidi representation in the government — though I don’t always love or approve of how the Hareidi politicians act, or what they choose to represent. For the record, I'm equally dubious about secular politicians, as well. 

- While I don't spend much time in Tel Aviv, I do have a few close Hareidi entrepreneur friends who have founded high-tech start-ups there, and are — Boruch Hashem! — doing very well.   

- We don’t hate all non-religious people. Our kids don’t throw stones at passing cars on Shabbos. I doubt they even know anyone who would do that or think that it’s ok. We frequently talk about the Torah value of caring for and being compassionate towards everyone. As a family, we proactively try to find ways to judge others favorably (even those people who throw stones at passing cars on Shabbos.)

- We invite all manner of religious and secular Jews to join our Shabbos meals each week and the kids are open, happy, and confident to welcome everyone. (No, we're not Chabad.) One of the many reasons for having such guests at our table is to teach the kids this lesson.

- While we would technically be classified as right-wing and we don’t at all buy the modern “Palestinian” narrative, we certainly don’t hate all Arabs, nor do we have any desire to expel them all from the land. We warmly welcome anyone seeking to dwell here with us in peace and we are pained and saddened to see the suffering and loss of lives of all innocent Arab families and children — as would any decent human being.

- Of the few local families I know whose kids no longer identify as religious, none at all chose to disown their kids. The very thought, in such lovingly family-dedicated communities, is hard to imagine. I'm not saying it doesn't happen, I'm just saying it's not as common as it's made out. Rather, these families have tirelessly, profoundly, compassionately committed to maintaining any connection with their children, and to emphasize that, no matter what, family is the most important thing. Because it is.

- We aren't just living our life blindly, dogmatically following empty religious rules; rather, we are frequently engaged with, exploring and discussing Torah's richness, depth and meaning. Our kids honestly love learning Torah, praying and doing mitzvos. They’re visibly excited about Shabbos and festivals. This lifestyle is in no way oppressive or burdensome for them. If you suggested to them it was, they’d laugh and think you were crazy.  

- We Hareidim are normal people: we laugh, we cry, we buy too much Ikea furniture, and we struggle with all of life's daily ups and downs, just like the rest of you. Some of our communities are more healthy and balanced, some are less so; some of our people are warmer, nicer and more open, some are more closed, dogmatic and judgmental; some of our leaders are noble and upstanding, and some are quite frankly idiots…JUST LIKE ANY SECULAR NEIGHBORHOOD IN THE WORLD TOO. But having grown up living a secular lifestyle myself, and today being Hareidi-by-choice, I can testify that in these communities there is generally a greater and more tangible sense of well-being, warmth, tranquility, connection and meaning. We love and feel blessed to be living this life and wouldn’t want any other.

If this description of Hareidi life is hard to swallow, be careful not to push back with the often-used defenses like: "Well, you're just an exception to the rule...", "You're just American Hareidim", "You're baalei teshuvah", "Well, I know a bunch of Haredim that aren't like that at all"....because the truth is, while there might be many Hareidim who aren't like what I described above, it's still an accurate description of literally hundreds of thousands of Hareidim in Israel and the US — a decent portion of all Hareidim in the world. Which is my very point — how come you never see this significant Hareidi demographic represented in the media, television series, or the news? How come we mostly see the darkest and most problematic cliches instead? 

And finally, if all the facts I've listed above about our communities are hard for you to accept as true, then perhaps the image you have in your head about Hareidim is less based on facts and reality and more based on stereotypes, fear, hate, and discrimination — like any other form of prejudice in the world. 

Care to prove me wrong? Well, you're welcome to come argue it out with me and my family at our Shabbos table on Friday night. It would be a joy and honor to have you. 

Doniel Katz

[comradekatara]

Hi there! I'm reaching out over the post you made about Sokka and Katara encountering fields and plants for the first time. I believe it's made in good faith, but I also think that based on the real life circumpolar peoples that the WTs are based on, green fields and plants are not new to Sokka & Katara. I can't link it, but on my tumblr (/post/647735735644012544) there's an Image ID-ed post that addresses it. To spread awareness about these real life places, do you mind reblogging? thx!

Also want to add that while ATLA suggests that the Water Tribes live in perpetually snowy wastelands, that plays off some pretty basic stereotypes about people living in the Arctic. I think addressing this in fandom would help highlight their actual lived realities! :)

okay so. there are a lot of layers to this... 

it’s true that no one other than some really hardcore scientists actually live in the literal south pole. atla’s worldbuilding is influenced by many real-world cultures (i mean it’s pretty much impossible for high fantasy worldbuilding not to be to some extent), and it is common knowledge that the southern water tribe primarily draws from the cultures of the inuit and yup’ik people, as well as other indigenous peoples across the globe. even if you live in a tundra, there will still be some distinct change in seasons, and flora does grow there. i wouldn’t want anyone to think that i am not fully aware of these facts. 

then again, my post doesn’t actually say that katara and sokka don’t know what plants are. there’s a big difference between seeing some plants and some trees, and seeing a lush green field. i didn’t grow up in a tundra, but i did grow up in a city, and even though there were plenty of trees on my street, and many parks nearby, standing in an actual field in the middle of a verdant natural landscape is a very overwhelming experience for me (literally every time, no matter how many times it happens, i fucking love fields), the same way that seeing snow for the first time is an overwhelming experience for someone who grew up in a desert, even if they’ve also seen snow in the movies! 

i also made up the existence of poison ivy as a plant in the avatar universe for the purposes of that post, because i wanted to make a joke about sokka’s bad luck, and it was the first plant i could think of. the reason i didn’t think too hard about the wildlife that would and would not plausibly grow in the avatar universe is because, well, there is literally no guide. it’s a made-up world. pretty much every animal is just a preexisting animal mashed together with another animal, and other than one meta joke, they do not question the (extremely bizarre) implications of this at all. and there’s no point actually deeply questioning that, because it’s clear that the writers were just having fun with it. 

while atla draws from real-world cultures to inform its worldbuilding, that doesn’t actually mean that it “represents” those cultures. like, yes, if toph lived in our world, she would probably be chinese, but toph isn’t actually chinese because china as a country does not exist in atla. i would never want to diminish the lived experiences of any group of people, but just because the worldbuilding for the water tribes is largely inspired by the cultures of people who live in tundras (as well as um. australia. china. etc.) doesn’t mean that it’s any kind of 1 to 1 analogue, and i personally find it fallacious to hold it to that standard. i definitely think it’s really cool when inuit people & other people belonging to indigenous groups talk about the worldbuilding for the water tribes, and how that reflects their experiences, as well as just all the real-world cultural inspirations throughout the show, but i think we have to keep in mind that it’s a fantasy world that was never designed to accurately reflect the lived experiences of any given culture. 

i also think it is fair to assume that in the world of avatar, the north & south poles where the water tribes live don’t actually have distinct year round seasons, esp the closer one gets to the poles themselves. at no point in the show(s), including flashbacks, do we ever see it be. not-snowy. which makes sense, because it’s a fantasy world with elemental magic, and they’re going for a whole visual motif. if hemispheres exist on the atla planet (which just logically speaking, must be the case), then it would be summer in at least one of the poles. and yet, both are shown to be icy in book 1, which takes place over the course of about a month, i believe, and certainly not half a year. you might think this is a bad oversight on the part of the writers, which is certainly a valid opinion to hold. and the claim that this does not reflect the lived experiences of real-life people who live near the north pole would be true! and yet the people of the water tribes also have magic water that they can control with their minds, which is a tool that no real-life peoples possess (to my knowledge) so that’s also a pretty important factor in considering why they would actually want to live in perpetually-snowy wastelands. 

also like. imagine how funny it would be if they did have distinct seasons. zhao gives a whole speech to the highest ranking members of the fire navy like “the northern water tribe is an impenetrable fortress that has stood impervious to attacks for the past 100 years. we will need every fleet in our armamentarium to penetrate their walls.” and then he’s like “so yeah I’m thinking of attacking right smack in the middle of winter.” that would be so funny actually yeah you know what you’ve changed my mind

[lucky-sevens]

is there any more info on jonny before he was mechanized? i feel like i remember something implying he was nicer before he was mechanized

first off, i want to apologize for taking so long on this ask! i have several pending in my inbox that i have not gotten to, and i’m very sorry for that! i haven’t even been that busy, just procrastinating- that said, i do have a lot going on, so this may be a constant until my workload decreases, which will probably be around winter break; unless i find myself another project to have to do). (timestamp for future reference: this post made november 25, 2020)

but now, let’s get into the analysis! i touch on what you’re asking here, but i have also taken the opportunity to do a full analysis of jonny’s backstory for future reference! (content warning for discussed transphobia, rest under cut)

addressing jonny having a good heart, he says in his crew bio ‘I’m told I had a good heart, but the Doc dealt with that after the whole patricide thing.‘ maki has talked about this more on the mechscord, implying that it referred to him being a good person (rather than a more literal take) and that mechanization directly corrupts morals (more on this in a potential upcoming meta). however, we do not know specifics on how his personality was different. that addressed, let’s continue with trying to figure out what exactly happened in jonny’s backstory.

jonny’s backstory is presented to us in one eyed jacks, however, in his crew bio linked above, he says he made it up. this is with the exception of him killing his father. in death to the mechanisms, there’s the ‘you’re projecting’ exchange, which is a fairly well known joke, but for people who haven’t seen death to the mechanisms-

[JONNY] I mean, in Oedipus’s defense, it’s harder than it looks not to end up in a, emotionally-charged narrative climax where you murder your father. It’s…

[ASHES] No it’s not.

[JONNY] Everyone thinks it’s so easy, “Oh, I’d never kill my father.” But sometimes, life happens.

[ASHES] Most people don’t kill their fathers.

[TIM] You’re projecting.

[JONNY] I…

[IVY] Again.

this piece of banter could definitely be considered evidence towards him actually doing so. in addition, maki has said on the mechscord regarding his backstory ‘the best lies always contain a grain of truth‘ and implied that a lot of it wasn’t a lie, including jonny’s original last name (vangelis).

he did make some of it up, though, and that opens up an interesting pathway of analysis. a very common theory i’ve seen is that one of his lies is about the existence of jack. jack and carmilla fill potentially very similar roles in the narrative, and there are some subtle echoes of each other, like the fact they both only have one eye. the theory proposes that carmilla was the one actually filling the role of jack, and convincing jonny to commit patricide.

there is a song other than one eyed jacks that is likely to have more truth to it. the dr carmilla song homesick is likely a retelling of both jonny and carmilla’s backstories. in fact, it was originally played as a duet between jonny and carmilla. i have no direct source on this, but keep in mind exhumed and {un}plugged, which has the album recording of homesick, is a solo album, with only carmilla on both voice and instrumentals, and there’s actually an echoing voice effect to make it sound more like the recorded duet between carmilla and jonny (which can be found here). the other live gig where carmilla performs it on her own, lashings, jonny is absent, and the toy soldier performs rose red solo as well. as discussed, jonny killing his father is the part of his backstory that i believe can be trusted, and well, homesick has the lyric ‘dear father, i’ve come to kill you’. it also feels more like the truth than one eyed jacks, which is trope-y and sanitized in a way that feels like jonny d’ville wrote it.

from there, further analysis can be done of the lyrics in the context of them referring to jonny. an interesting aspect is that the duet has slightly differently lyrics, and dialogue in character after the song. quoting directly, jonny, likely taking the role of carmilla’s father, says “Get out of my house, never darken my doorway again. I have no daughter. Do what you’re gonna do, son. You’re a disgrace.” the easiest way to interpret this is carmilla being kicked out for being transgender, which has further support in that maki herself is a trans woman and that this iteration of homesick was performed at transpose london. there has actually been a very interesting book about trans culture published that discusses doctor carmilla and the themes thereof.

but i digress- from the perspective of analyzing jonny’s backstory, ‘do what you’re gonna do, son’ echoes the portion of one eyed jacks to the tune of ‘house of the rising sun’, where jonny kills his father. locke’s opinion on this is that billy vangelis is attempting to convince jonny out of killing him, flipping between approaches. (this also implies that jonny is a trans man!) the other change in this duet is that there’s an additional verse about their mothers (again, likely being a line that could apply to both jonny’s mother and carmilla’s), but not very much analysis has been done on this.

viewing the rest of homesick in this lens, it implies that everything in that song also applies to jonny. carmilla’s mother, siblings, and ‘lover’ (loreli) are all mentioned and discussed, and those could also be similar figures in jonny’s life. locke has suggested that ‘dear brother’ and ‘dear lover’ could be referring to the same person for jonny; a very close friend/boyfriend. xe has also conducted further analysis on what the song could mean, and formed headcanons based on that; for the sake of objectivity, and the sake of not making this meta stretch longer than it already is, i won’t go into them, but if you’re on the mechscord and you search ‘homesick from:jenn-locke#4349 in:sad-mechs-hours′ her thoughts are fairly easy to find, and xe is considering writing something up eventually, which i will link if it’s completed.

in conclusion, one eyed jacks has some truth to it, but homesick by dr carmilla is likely the most accurate picture of jonny’s backstory.

[tanzmitmirsblog]

How much do we control the management of our lives?

 How much can you trust a person you do not know? When questioned how we may adopt someone we admire as a role model, the answer does not appear to be far away. Something in human nature may easily lead to deception. In Mark Twain's book What is Man, "I think the mind is a purely machine, a thoroughly independent machine, an automatic machine." says the old man. I agree with these words and I believe that this machine can change. One does not have to have the same ideas and the same body throughout his life. Sometimes they really would like to change some things. "The fact that man distinguishes right from wrong proves that he is mentally superior to other creatures; but that he can do wrong proves that he is morally inferior to any creature that cannot do wrong." he continues on the next pages. If human can choose the wrong while having a will, this clearly shows that a person lives according to external factors, not according to themselves. Losing weight and doing it because of emulating, which is a possible reason, and it's also a good reason to do it to feel good. It is significant to know how accurate it would be to state that it is in the leaven of human people and to blame the human will. We ought to speak about why someone desires to lose weight and why one favours an influencer when there is a healthier way.

     The perception of importance to external appearance is an important reason that pushes people to lose weight. This aesthesis is poison ivy. A measure in the middle and thousands of people competing to fit that measure. Some aesthetic, some try to lose weight some try tons of methods, some just love themselves, maybe we are not very good at loving ourselves, we cannot prove it with our own eyes, but right now, effects or photoshop are enough to feel nice, we look at the camera we are not who we are, not only us, everyone thinks this but we have to accept that sometimes when you look in the mirror, you say “wow!”, sometimes in a photograph, sometimes in a dress, but when a person looks at your face, we have to keep in mind that the first thing that comes to mind is a beautiful face and weakness in the established standards. Allow that people to enjoy and adore our humour, craziness, amusing spirit, natural state, sincerity and sincere sentiments, appreciation of the present, patience, tolerance, empathy, loyalty, and respect. Beauty is a perception that changes with time. Smile, but like fashion, a new perception of beauty emerges that changes every year. We do not have to abide by it. You don't have to be on the side of thinness this summer. You cannot always follow the herd, sometimes it is important to leave the herd and make your own way When you look at your 15-year-old self, you realize how much we have changed. Accepting this is as important as realizing it, it is enough for you to accept it, you do not need someone else's approval, if you wake up in the morning, "How do you think I should live?" You should have asked them all. "How do you think my weight is? Do I look too fat? Am I too thin?" Asking that constantly does nothing but strengthen the standard of society. Losing weight should not be something you do for someone else; it should be something you do for yourself.

       The second reason is that the influencers gain everyone's trust. It takes a lot of effort to build trust, and that is exactly what influencers do. They prioritize winning the confidence of their followers before using it to their advantage. They utilize effective phrases with care as examples "Thanks to this medicine, I dropped 15 kg and my life was transformed" and "Wow, what a difference in a week! Thanks to this herbal tea, I dropped 25 pounds in a month." This reminded me of honey television advertisements. To market a product, you must have strong persuasion skills, which you may do by crafting a product story. Using someone who was overweight but is now slim, for example, is a fantastic option. This shift, which everyone can see with their own eyes, is something that everyone can believe in.   Nevertheless, there might be a ruse hidden behind it. Influencers may mislead individuals by advertising a weight reduction product to those who have never tried it or who have not benefitted from it. People who have become social media slaves will buy a product after seeing such commercials, regardless of how much it costs or whether it is harmful to their health.

    This is how influencers make money and become famous. Many influencers have benefited from this advertising in terms of popularity and money. It has now evolved into a career. When he makes a lot of money, it becomes their source of income. They mould their lives around it and plan their career accordingly. Aside from the money, thousands of individuals who believe in them make them proud and feel good. However, it is unethical to endanger human life for the sake of profit. Their drive to profit from this company should not take precedence over human health. It should also be considered a crime if the products used by deceived people are unreliable and do not harm health, but do not meet their main purpose, because when people see that the products, they buy to lose weight do not work, they will collapse psychologically. Some influencers do this not for the sake of advertising, but to help those in need, and there are efficient techniques for doing so. Perhaps they choose to share the correct ways since they are guilty. Some influencers post this on a daily basis, increasing the reality share. Some people utilize natural techniques and do not promote. Nonetheless, everyone's metabolism is different, which is a reality that should be understood. Dietitians ensure that this is done properly. They design a program based on the body mass index of those who wish to lose weight and assist them in achieving their goals through a well-balanced diet. Influencers do not have the same level of expertise as doctors, and while they can provide right ways, they cannot create a healthy route. Their techniques may be harmful to other people's health. As a result, it should be done by experts who are familiar with the industry, rather than by influencers.

    We can observe and understand how powerful willpower is and why people want to lose weight, and we can generate our own motivation rather than relying on others. No matter how compelling the arguments, we must not let those who seek to use this situation. Rather of being influenced by others or believing their advice without question, we should first establish why we want to reduce weight. We can take this road to make ourselves happy rather than to adhere to society's beauty standards. For our own benefit, we must learn to love ourselves a bit. What I am trying to express is not a simple mess. You will have the ability to shatter all judgements and impressions if you position yourself according to what you position and guide your decisions appropriately. If you want to do yourself a favour, you can fix it with assistance, but only from a professional. You would be doing yourself a huge kindness provided that you did not fall for these small manipulations.

-Tanzmitmirsblog

[kyberphilosopher]

Important Information

Rules:

I am a minor. As such, smut can not be requested and can not be written. As a compromise, smutty themes can be used as overtones or undertones, often vaguely or simply eluded to. But pure smut? Not for a few months, which is when I’ll be 18. Sorry horndogs. 

Please request through the submission inbox, or my direct messages. Further more, be polite. Be clear. If I ask a question to clear something up, answer it. Don’t let it dangle. I will always ask if there’s anything else you so desire (a word count, any details) so please tell me if there’s nothing else or if there is. English is also not my first language. 

Do not request something against canon. I have written like that before and did not enjoy that. This means if something is considered canon, say Star Wars, such as a line of dialogue or something shown on screen, I would refuse to write you into it. I feel that it distorts the fiction so much you wouldn’t really be in it, and the characters wouldn’t be themselves anymore. Allow me to write you into the world as a side character, as something not shown directly but something that could fit into canon. 

Some fictional characters have different versions of them. For example, Movie Anakin Skywalker, and the Clone Wars Anakin Skywalker. Ben Affleck Batman, or Christian Bale Batman? Or even, Comic Accurate Batman? Specify for me. If not specified after asking for it, I will write the character with headcanon information pulled from multiple ‘canon’ sources. This will be referred to as ‘headcanoned canon’.

Reblog my stuff? Absolutely. I see all my reblogs. But take it an post it to a different site? No. Don’t do that. Maybe I’ll spread over to Ao3 one day, but for now, please don’t. 

Last one I can think of for now. But luckily this can be updated over time. I don’t write drabbles. I know! But just imagine all the times you’ve read a fic so good, only for it to end so soon. I like the thought of writing something both high quality and high quantity, which means I won’t be satisfied with anything under 2,000 words. Unfortunately, this may sometimes come at the expense of time. Especially if what you requested doesn’t fit into my current hyperfixation. 

List of Characters I’ve Written, or Am Open to Writing:

Aayla Secura, Star Wars (Clone Wars)

Ahsoka Tano, Star Wars (Clone Wars and Live Action)

Anakin Skywalker, Star Wars (Clone Wars and Live Action)

Asaaj Ventress, Star Wars (Clone Wars and Books)

Boba Fett, Star Wars (Live Action Original Movies and The Mandalorian)

Bodhi Rook, Star Wars (Rogue One)

Bo-Katan Kryze, Star Wars (Clone Wars and The Mandalorian)

Cal Kestis, Star Wars (Jedi: Fallen Order, Beginning and End of Game)

Cassian Andor, Star Wars (Rogue One)

Darth Maul, Star Wars (Clone Wars)

Din Djarin, Star Wars (The Mandalorian)

Finn, Star Wars (Live Action Sequel Trilogy)

Jyn Erso, Star Wars (Rogue One)

Leia Skywalker, Star Wars (Live Action Original Movies)

Obi-Wan “Ben” Kenobi, Star Wars (Clone Wars and Live Action)

Padme Amidala, Star Wars (Clone Wars and Live Action)

Poe Dameron, Star Wars (Live Action Sequel Trilogy)

Rey, Star Wars (Live Action Sequel Trilogy)

Rex, Star Wars (Clone Wars)

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Batman, DC Comics (All Live Action, All Comic, Arkhamverse, All Animated, Headcanoned Canon)

Bane, DC Comics (Games)

Barry Allen/The Flash, DC Comics (All Live Action, Headcanoned Canon)

Black Canary, DC Comics (Birds of Prey Live Action Movie)

Bruce Wayne, DC Comics (All Live Action, Headcanoned Canon)

Catwoman/Selina Kyle, DC Comics (Headcanoned Canon)

Christopher Smith/Peacemaker, DCEU (All Live Action, Headcanoned Canon)

Cleo Cazo/Ratcatcher 2, DCEU (Live Action)

Conner Kent/Superboy, DC Comics (Titans, All Animated)

Damian Wayne, DC Comics (Animated and Injustice)

Dick Grayson, DC Comics (Titans, All Comic, Arkhamverse, All Animated, All Versions)

Harley Quinn, DC Comics (All Live Action, All Comic, Arkhamverse, All Animated Versions)

Jason Todd/Red Hood, DC Comics (Headcanoned Canon, Arkhamverse, All Animated, Titans, All Versions)

Katana, DC Comics (2016 Suicide Squad Live Action Movie)

Poison Ivy, DC Comics (Arkhamverse, All Comic, All Animated, Headcanoned Canon)

Tim Drake/Red Robin, DC Comics (Arkhamverse, All Comic, All Animated, Headcanoned Canon)

Raven, DC Comics (Headcanoned Canon, All Animated, All Comics, All Titans)

Robert Dubois/Bloodsport, DC Comics (DCEU Live Action)

Scarecrow/Johnathon Crane, DC Comics(All Live Action, Arkhamverse, Headcanoned Canon)

Starfire/Koriand’r, DC Comics (Titans, All Comics, All Animated, Headcanoned Canon)

Superman/Clark Kent, DC Comics (Cavill’s Live Action, All Animated, All Comics)

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Annie Leonhardt, Shingeki no Kyojin (Marley Resident, Season 1-3, Season 4, Titan Form)

Bertholdt Hoover, Shingeki no Kyojin (Marley Resident, Season 1-3)

Carla Jaeger, Shingeki no Kyojin (Pre Beginning)

Eren Jaeger, Shingeki no Kyojin (Season 1-3, Season 4, Titan Form)

Hanji Zoe, Shingeki no Kyojin (All Seasons and OVA)

Jean Kirchstein, Shingeki no Kyojin (Season 1-3, Season 4)

Levi Ackerman, Shingeki no Kyojin (All Seasons and OVA)

Marco Bodt, Shingeki no Kyojin (Season 1)

Mikasa Ackerman, Shingeki no Kyojin (Season 1-3, Season 4)

Moblit Berner, Shingeki no Kyojin (All Seasons and OVA)

Sasha Braus, Shingeki no Kyojin (Season 1-3, Season 4)

L Lawliet, Death Note (Season 1)

Ryuk, Death Note (Season 1)

Touta Matsuda, Death Note (Season 1)

Raye Penber and Naomi Matsura (Season 1, Pre Beginning, Throuple Headcanon Canoned)

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Connor RK800, Detroit: Become Human (Deviant, Android, Mid and Post Game)

Chloe RT600, Detroit: Become Human (Deviant, Android, Pre, Mid, and Post Game)

Gavin Reed, Detroit: Become Human (Mid and Post Game)

Kara AX400, Detroit: Become Human (Post Game)

Luther TR400, Detroit: Become Human (Pre and Post Game)

Markus RK200, Detroit: Become Human (Pre, Mid, and Post Game)

Nines RK900, Detroit: Become Human (Post Game)

North WR400, Detroit: Become Human (Pre, Mid, and Post Game)

Other Worlds and Fandoms Coming Soon. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

What You Can Expect From Me:

Fanfiction

Headcanons- While I’d consider all of my fanfiction headcanons, I’m referring to those little bullet point things you’ll see writers do. Here’s my deal on that. I won’t do romantic headcanons for the characters listed above. By that I mean you won’t see anything titled, “How Poe Dameron Would Cuddle”, or anything of that sort. But you probably will see just my own little headcanons for fun. Like, little fun facts. You know, “Superman’s favorite food is ____”, “Nines hates rats”.

However, I will write romantic headcanons for my OC’s. But that’s for later.

Further regarding fanfiction, I typically write angst. Not sure why, it’s just what I started with because I thought the plots were strongest and I wanted to see where I could take it. Like I said, no smut, but you’ll find allusions to it. Fluff? Yeah, it’s there. Hard for me to write fluff without a plot, but it does exist on my page. 

Original Stories

Most people ignore this, but if you see that I’ve posted it won’t always be something regarding your favorite character. I write my own little stories that’s basically just glorified, book length headcanons for a few worlds, but mostly the Star Wars galaxy. Don’t worry, there’s no need to pay attention to it if you don’t want. It’s something I do in my spare time besides x readers and oneshots. 

Spontaneous Posting

What I mean by this, is that unlike a lot of writers, I don’t work on a schedule. There’s no “once a week posting”, or anything like that. What I finish and give the okay to, is posted. If you’ve requested something, I’ll let you know that it’s about to go out. So sometimes a burst of fics may be pumped out in a week, or none will for up to a month.

Going by EST, I typically am most active at night and early morning. Especially in the summer. During fall this may change.

I rarely put out a post that is unrelated to my writings. If it is related to my personal life instead, it will be posted, but not saved. Documented and available, but never pinned or anything. 

FAQ:

Do you write queer pairings?

Yes. My earlier works usually elude to a female reader and it’s blaringly obvious, though it’s shifting into androgyny for ease of reader. I would prefer to have an androgynous reader instead of a set in stone male or female one. 

Am I reading a queer fanfic written by a straight person?

You are not. I am androgynous myself in terms of gender and unlabeled in terms of sexuality. 

Do you write for poc?

This question shocks me, though I’ve gotten it twice. Then I realized- it’s because so many writers forget the point of a reader. The reader may be described as blonde, or white, or thin, or female. You will not find that here. There will be no set in stone appearance for the reader except for mentions of whatever hair you may possess (apologies to those without hair). There will be no talk of ‘light skin’, or ‘curvy figure’. The farthest I’ll go is describing you as pale, if say, you were sick. Because any race or skin tone can go pale, you know? The only thing I’d do- rarely- is give you a real age. But only to further the plot if needed.

 My point is, ‘Y/N’ is not just a pretty white person with long hair. It’s inclusive to anyone. I’ll stand by that. 

Do you write headcanons?

Answered in the above section. Long story short, I’m working on it, but on my terms. 

Do you write song fics?

I haven’t before. Why? They make me cringe. I don’t know why. I’ll write a fic based on a song, or with undertones of a song. But those little paragraphs with the lyrics that aren’t even in time with what you’re reading if you were to read and listen at the same time? I don’t think so. 

Do you know what sex is?

I do. 

Will you have e-sex with me in the direct message chatbox?

I will not. 

Why do you write on tumblr?

I started writing just to share an old word document with over 300 pages worth of an Original Star Wars story. I tried my hand at fanfiction because, while I don’t read it often myself, I know a lot of people do. It helps them escape reality. And, I’m a pretty good writer, I think. At least I can only get better. I’m just one more person trying to put something out for people to enjoy, and maybe even rely on. 

Will you ever write for real people?

If I ever wrote a fanfiction about Christian Bale or like Barack Obama I think I would just disappear. I can’t do it. It’s like warping my own reality. 

How often do you post?

I don’t know. 

Do you have a taglist?

I did! But only for Star Wars. If you want to be tagged in something, let me know. But you have to be specific. Just for a certain character? For a certain fandom? A certain plot? Just og stories? Be clear. 

Dynamics I Enjoy Writing:

Man simps for person who almost wants nothing to do with them. 

Hero simps for villain or villain simps for hero despite the obvious consequences.

Two jokesters destroy some area while left alone together. May get along better than they would admit. 

Two people who are not expected to get along, get along well. 

Hero and villain are best friends but won’t admit it.

Basically if I’m left to my own mind most of my fics will fall under one of these dynamics. Not always- definitely not always. But I kinda like them. 

Numbers:

800-273-8255 USA National Suicide Hotline

1 (300) 22 4636 Australia Suicide and Anxiety Line

1 (833) 456 4566  Canada Suicide Hotline

800-810-1117 China Suicide Hotline

0145394000 France Suicide Hotline

08001810771 Germany Suicide Hotline

8888817666  India Suicide Hotline

810352869090 Japan Suicide Hotline

0078202577577 Russia Suicide Hotline

08457909090 UK Suicide Hotline

4408457909090 Ireland Emergency Hotline

1-800-656-4673 US National Sexual Assault Hotline

741-741 National Panic Hotline (for people who prefer to text)

Anything else? 

Nope. Can’t think of anything. We’ll see if anything changes. Thanks for checking it out. 

Header Credits to: @moonknights​

[identityexcavationstation]

The High Fidelity Remake is Good and my Identity is Irreversibly Linked to Music Consumption

Hi! So, I’m kinda insane about playlists.

This year I’ve made a lot of them. They’ve been short and snappy on index cards, scanned and pasted in a book and uploaded to the internet. (I’ve really fallen in love with index card playlists and they’re my thing now and I think everyone should do them always and forever.) They were easy to churn out as a retrospective exercise because the music I listened to as a teenager really defined my high school experience. Also, I have most of my favorite songs from that period in a very dramatic playlist I started in 2014 so it was really a game of copy-and-paste. 

Making these smol boys in batches has been a really peculiar experience because for years now, I’ve only made one playlist at a time. In my second semester of college, I’d officially burned myself out listening to only CHVRCHES for three months and began venturing elsewhere. (Don’t get me wrong, CHVRCHES absolutely bangs, but you can only listen to “Never Ending Circles” so many times before getting seasick.) All of the random songs I was listening to made me feel kinda hazy and purple, like I’d done all of this before. So I made a playlist full of them and called it “Deja Vu.”

I added to it all semester, and then suddenly it was summer and I didn’t feel purple and hazy anymore⁠—everything was blue and crisp on the way to South Haven as my friend blasted “Settle Down” by Kimbra in her beat-up Honda. So I started a new playlist and named it the first word that popped into my head: “Roots.”

Using Deja Vu as a rubric, I developed some ground rules for the playlists I would go on to create. They are pretty nonsensical but also exceedingly firm because if I don’t make rules for every area of my life I feel like I’m falling into a deep and limitless void. Health! Anyway, the rules are:

The playlist’s title has to be a short noun (seven letters maximum).

This has since transformed into a noun that is also a verb.

To generate a title, I ask myself what short word I would use to describe the phase of life I’m currently in. The answer comes quickly and reflexively, and I choose the very first word I think of.

One song per artist, no repeats!

Exceptions are made for artists who are featured on a track.

There have been times when I’ve obsessively listened to a whole album or an artist’s entire discography, so I have to choose just one song that represents the very best of that album or artist.

Tracks are added chronologically, based on when I first hear them and/or start listening to them compulsively.

The playlist has to contain an amount of tracks that is divisible by five.

If a song in a playlist is deleted from Spotify, I have to find a replacement asap that is accurate to what I was listening to when that playlist was being created.

and, most importantly, 

I can’t make a new playlist until I feel I’m finished with the current one.

These playlists represent seasons of my life, cycles in which I change and evolve and stagnate and fuck up and try again. The only rule I have for beginning a new playlist is that I feel done with the current one—those songs are a little stale and don’t represent me anymore. These “seasons” don’t have any set length, and I can never predict when I’ll feel like a new being who needs new songs to define her. So far, my life has looked like this:

Deja Vu - 176 days (12.03.16 - 05.28.17) Most common lyrics: now, love, time, need, take

snow that covers ivy that covers bricks, towers made from dining hall dishes, smiling at the bus stop without knowing, sheet masks in the dorm bathroom at 2am, pink string lights and pink crocheted blankets and pink shag carpeting, cheap beer behind tarps and walking everyone home

Roots - 111 days (05.28.17 - 09.16.17)  Most common lyrics: love, one, give, wanna, know

t-shirt tan lines, mozzarella and tomato and basil and singed spaghetti, sunset walks around abandoned high schools, green leaves outlined in watercolor, the smell of mildew and old paper in banker’s boxes, sweat-soaked french braids, the knife twist of eye contact, tarot readings under lamplight

Walls - 110 days (09.16.17 - 01.04.18)   Most common lyrics: wanna, know, baby, take, feel

crying in the gender-neutral restroom, pretty boys holding guitars or rolling rock, photos in the forest, blue carpeting and lofted bedframes, pitch-black bonfires, sitting in the dining hall to just watch the people pass, snow on eyelashes in large wet clumps, laughing at lies

Bite - 78 days (01.04.18 - 03.23.18)    Most common lyrics: know, love, stay, come, need

impatience at the airport, texting on the laundry room floor, nervous night drives, five grilled cheese sandwiches, acne like freckles, ceiling photos taken in secret, watercolor lines and paper houses, broken glass on the sidewalk, ink-stained forearms, notebook paper comics, writing small on basement walls

Windows - 131 days (03.23.18 - 08.01.18)   Most common lyrics: love, now, know, baby, fall

books piled up by the bed, rum and coke and orange juice and vodka and cheap white wine, rainy day night walks, streetlights turning the leaves orange, echoes from the party upstairs, solo trips to the grocery store, always leaving the blinds open, aperol and chai lattes and smørrebrød, never coming home

Grip - 136 days (08.01.18 - 12.15.18)    Most common lyrics: know, boy, lost, girl, night

read receipts, the creaking of an empty house, sand and bricks and traffic cones, sitting on the curb and shaking, applause at dinner, bubble tea, bike rides in torn jeans, mr brightside blasting at 10am, doodles during lectures, embroidery at the kitchen table, blue bus panic attacks, half an apple for lunch

Wait - 117 days (12.15.18 - 04.11.19)  Most common lyrics: heart, want, one, back, know

crying in the lobby, measuring oats by the quarter cup, drunken voice memos, shoes on power lines, another bowl of granola, reading all the lyrics, photos taken with the flash on, sleeping on strange couches, shoeboxes full of photographs, wire catching the sunlight, fifteen minutes of windchill

Wave - 108 days (04.11.19 - 07.28.19)  Most common lyrics: wanna, know, now, love, come

dancing on the porch, reading on the roof, tipsy trips to the corner store, silent heavy parlor air, chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting, barred windows and string lights and exit signs, highlighting the important parts, nails tapping on wooden tables, wet wind before the storm, biking straight into the smoke

Home - 178 days (07.28.19 - 01.22.20)   Most common lyrics: down, know, now, wanna, think

steep downhill walks, fingertips covered in graphite and lead, blank faces on green walls, forest walkways, hands gripping thighs too tightly, light leaks in darkrooms, the handwriting of strangers, chains trapped between teeth, white words left unread, twirling at the tennis court, yellow becoming blue

Hand - 63 days (01.22.20 - 03.25.20)   Most common lyrics: know, time, love, die, back

masking tape messages, laughing four shots in, BiC .07mm HB mechanical pencils slipped into coat cuffs, cheeks blushed with red ink, green floodlights and kissed knuckles, windows fogged from the inside, falling asleep with earbuds in, finger guns and everything in boxes, wedging open locked doors

_______________________________________________________________________

It’s interesting to look back at these playlists altogether, see them as self-contained units, little stories I tell about myself, about the people I used to be. Adding a song to one of these playlists was like making a vow, entering a relationship with a collection of sounds. It’s like I was saying “this song is now a part of me.” I constructed this little world for myself in the space between my ears, and it, in turn, created me.

I really mean it when I say that the first word that floats to the front of my mind becomes the title of whatever playlist I’m making. I never question what the word means, and its meaning always ends up describing that season of my life. 

“Roots” became a period of reconnecting with essential pieces of myself I thought I had abandoned. 

During “Grip,” I was holding on so tightly to things that had left me ages ago, and I think I knew that, even if I was unable to admit it to myself. 

“Wait” revealed itself in two ways: it was a time in which 1.) I felt stagnant and restless, unable to be patient, and 2.) I was forced to grasp with a physical and emotional weight that had been bearing down on me. 

The mind is a magical thing—it processes what we refuse to recognize. 

Speaking of which, these playlist covers have been driving me up the wall for ages. They’re like nails on a freaking chalkboard for my synesthesia. Is “Bite” a heavily blue playlist? Sure. But is “Home” purple? Is “Grip” pink??? I think the fuck not! 

(I could do a whole goddamn blog post on synesthesia, and I might.)

Now that I know how to switch out playlist cover art (can you believe it’s taken me this long to figure out how to do that?), I have decided to issue myself a challenge/project/way to procrastinate actual work I have to do. 

I’d like to make a piece of cover art for all of the above playlists. And because I am, to reiterate, insane, I’m setting up some Rules For Creation:

All works must be the same size, on the same type of paper using similar materials (tbd but probably graphite, colored pencil, watercolor, fineliners, and/or collage).

The preliminary sketch for each cover must be created while listening to the playlist.

Each piece can (must?) incorporate the five most common lyrics as listed above because goddammit I did not spend four hours compiling lyrics in a web-based word cloud generator for nothing.

If I’m not having fun, I won’t make myself do it because this is literally just for laffs. 

Anyway, I’m looking forward to creating some fun weird art! I know nobody is gonna read this and nobody is gonna comment but if, by some miracle, you feel like it, comment a playlist you’ve made that you’re really proud of! Or comment if you have some weird playlist rules! Or cyberbully me! Anything’s fair game. 

TL;DR playlists are fun and I’m a maniac :)

[bigskydreaming]

How do you counter a Bruce hater? Not the 'never read comics so Bruce Wayne is a useless rich guy who should redistribute his wealth' hater, an actual hater who'd root for some villains like Ivy or Harley, want him gone so the Robins & Selina don't have to listen to him or care about him, thinks he should be obsolete because he's Idk.. old and has too many comics maybe? Genuine hater who somehow really loves his kids but not him. Doesn't hate the older version tho, acknowledges some parts..

I think it just comes down to why you want to counter them, tbh? Don’t get me wrong, I TOTALLY get being defensive of a fave, and respect how these fictional characters still nevertheless mean a great deal to us for various reasons.....but we hate various characters for a ton of different reasons as well. Bruce is....an especially complicated subject, because he’s such a CHARGED subject. He’s one of the oldest comic book characters out there, and he’s EXTREMELY polarizing....because people see radically different things when they look at him. Both canon writers and the fans. 

And thus we so often get these different takes on him that are literally AT ODDS with each other....the loving, caring father who is ideal for his kids because he wants to be for them what he never really had for himself vs the absent, neglectful father due to being a brooding, emotionally stunted lone wolf who believes he’s no good for anyone else and is best on his own.

And so the thing is, as much as it sucks, Bruce is one of those figures in comics where because BOTH takes (and everything else in between them) are real, just at different times, and are at such extreme opposite ends of the spectrum......there are reasons for loving his character that are absolutely valid....but there are reasons for hating his character that are absolutely valid as well. It kinda just depends on where your point of entry into the characters and their narratives are, and what your area of focus is.

For instance, its not really that weird that there are people who genuinely hate his character but somehow really love his kids....because I mean, using myself as an example....Dick has always been my character of focus, the one I personally relate to the most and invest in the most, and well, there have been a lot of times when Bruce has been written being extremely shitty to him. And that’s specifically WHAT I hold against Bruce’s character a lot of the time, and its not a contradiction to like Bruce’s kids and not like him.....the way DC has so massively fucked him up in regards to his kids a lot of the times IS the reason people who like his kids don’t like him. And even though its totally the writing that’s to blame, there sometimes comes a point when the problems are so everpresent in the writing of a character that its just too hard for a fan to separate the writing from the character, and it gets all tangled up together and thus you end up with someone hating Bruce, even though its really only certain ways he’s written that originated that.

So I mean, for myself, I don’t hate Bruce, but I DEFINITELY hate the way he’s written a lot of the time....I’m just very much used to centering my writer brain even when I’m reading, and thus its...easier? For me to keep an awareness of when I have a problem with a character inherently vs when I just have a problem with a certain take on a character? So I don’t hate Bruce because I recognize the times he is written well in regards to his kids and I see the potential for that always being there, but that doesn’t stop me from hating on the times he ISN’T written well in regards to them and is basically outright abusive because I mean....that’s part of why I invest in Dick’s narratives so much....I come from an abusive household and as much as I WANT Bruce to be good for Dick, I recognize and see myself and my own story in a lot of Dick’s narratives with Bruce.....which is why I dislike Bruce on a lot of occasions....BUT I also recognize and see in the OVERALL CHARACTERS the potential for Bruce to do what DIDN’T happen in my own life and like....get his act together. Be better. FIX himself and his relationships with his kids so that he can give them the family they deserve.

And so that’s why and where its ideal for me to keep the fact that the flaws are in the writing, not the characters, front and center.

But that’s not necessarily ideal for everyone, is the thing you gotta remember to respect. And other people who might be drawn to Dick and Jason and the other kids’ narratives BECAUSE they relate specifically to them as characters who have dysfunctional or even unhealthy relationships with an abusive or neglectful parent.....they might be less inclined to not hate Bruce because a family resolution isn’t ultimately what they’re looking for when relating to these characters....maybe what’s best for them at this point in their life is to see or imagine stories where these characters break away from a family member who only seems to hurt them lately, to not wait and hope for things to get better or him to improve but to just...move on on their own. *Shrugs* I don’t know, I can’t speak for everyone but none of us can is the thing.

And so its messy as hell, and its not a lot of fun sometimes, but the fact is, we just all gotta try and remember that what we look for in these characters and what we see in them is not the only thing that’s there. There are SO many facets to these characters and their stories and SO many reasons people are drawn to them and SO many things that fans are looking for and hoping for from them.

So my only advice is don’t worry about countering so much as just....holding front and center your own motivations for loving Bruce’s character and the WHYS of it. And its not....it doesn’t have to be one or the other, you know? Its not a zero sum game. As much as it makes it complicated to navigate fandom a lot of times, there’s room for multiple interpretations to exist, and the reasons you love Bruce’s character don’t HAVE to counter or negate the reasons other people hate his character, and vice versa. The reasons other people hate and criticize Bruce don’t HAVE to impact or harm the things you love about him......just focus on speaking to and putting out there your own view of things, and by all means, be as forceful and passionate about that as you want or need to be! 

But just....know the reality is that even if you’re trying to persuade someone else to see Bruce the way you do, that doesn’t guarantee they will, or that they have to, because unlike in a lot of instances where people just smear other characters for entirely baseless reasons, a lot of people DO have anti-Bruce sentiments that are rooted in entirely real justifications.....but that’s not an indictment of your pro-Bruce sentiments, and it doesn’t have to be, and you don’t need to take it as one. Which means you don’t have to defend him....there’s nothing to defend, maybe. Your reasons for liking him have nothing to do with someone else’s reasons for hating him and they don’t need to go head to head and duel it out, necessarily.

Honestly, just whenever possible, just try to keep front and center in your mind and your reading of posts that like.....a lot of times “I hate Bruce” is actually more likely “I hate Bruce’s writing in x and y and z situations and stories” and that can make it a LOT easier to digest. 

I mean, going back to using myself as an example, obviously I’m hugely vocal in defensive of Dick Grayson, lol, but a lot of people question why I so often attack fanon characterizations of him specifically....and its specifically BECAUSE I’m attacking the tendency of so many fans to say “I hate Dick” when its actually in my eyes more “I hate Dick’s characterization - as depicted in these various fanon myths that only exist in fandom and have no basis outside it.” So THAT’S what I ‘defend’ Dick against more often than not, versus just....defending him against people who hate him - there’s no real counter for that, at the end of the day. You can’t MAKE someone like a character if they have actual real justifications for why.

But you CAN be clear about where it is you do and don’t agree with their view of a character.....is it because you have fundamentally different views of the character that are both rooted in canon basis, or is it because you feel they’re not accurately characterizing a character based on your knowledge of him, or is it because you both simply prioritize and focus on different areas of a character’s past writing? Etc. etc.

That won’t necessarily help you ‘win’ any arguments against an opposing viewpoint in fandom, but it will help you....deal with the existence of opposing viewpoints that have every bit as much validity as yours, I think. Just being able to recognize when someone isn’t criticizing or condemning the Bruce you know and love....its just that the Bruce they know and hate is kinda almost a different version of the character entirely.....but both versions can and do exist and its ultimately just a matter of finding some way to balance that.

I don’t know if that’s of any help at all, but hopefully there’s something in there that’ll be of use to you!

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 24: Better the Devil You Don’t (Epilogue)

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Someone does right by Cadence.

note: And with that Bound by Circumstance is ended! I’ll start posting book 3, Bound by Choice, in a day or so! Book 3 is the only book in the series not based off of an existing Choices book, and follows the story of the Trinity in a series of flashback vignettes. Taylor and the Nightbound gang will return in book 4!

Also, Bound by Choice is currently in-progress, as opposed to books 1 & 2 which were completed at the time of posting. Once I catch up on the last chapters posted, my updating schedule will go to the weekly update my AO3 is on.

[READ IT ON AO3]

A few weeks later…

[TEXT]: hurry up [TEXT]: where r u??? [TEXT]: ur loss I’m not waiting [TEXT]: BUZZKILL!!! [TEXT]: pic.jpg

The picture does it — finally draws his attention away from his computer to where his phone screen changes from 01:07 to 01:08 as if to taunt him.

It takes Cadence a moment to realize the woman next to Kathy in her (blurry) self-taken photo is supposed to be Ivy. So used to seeing her true form in person — but glamours don’t fade on digital recording.

And who else do they know dresses like she’s always ready to attend a Victorian funeral?

In his friend’s defense Cade was supposed to be at the Shift over an hour ago.

She’ll hear his excuses and his apologies, pretend as though he’s committed the greatest sin in history — but come sunrise and sobriety he’ll be forgiven. The Nighthunter likes to make everyone think she’s the picture of cool nonchalance; the human equivalent of a cat.

But anyone who feeds strays knows just how affectionate cats can be when they so choose.

He shuts down his work, fighting the instinctual habit to leave most of it out and make his space look clean by pushing it to the sides of his desk — actually putting things back in their folders and boxes.

Tap-tap.

His head jerks up quick enough for his glasses to threaten flight. Working in this particular space for over a decade now, there isn’t anyone who doesn’t know about Odd Cadence and his odd hours; how he refuses to work in the daylight due to a debilitating allergy.

Even Gary from night maintenance wouldn’t bother.

Tap-tap.

He listens for a heartbeat. Can hear everything from the rush of water through old plumbing to the coo of pigeons scavenging on the outside Square.

Tap—

Isadora de la Rosa doesn’t get to finish her genteel knocking; pale hand hovering just shy of the taller vampire’s collarbone as he holds the door open.

She looks a little dumbfounded for him to have answered. That’s silly, though, since she was in his territory now.

The air is thick with a tension not felt since Mardi Gras those weeks ago. She looks ready to turn and leave without a word between them. He almost lets her.

“Izzy,” by way of greeting, and even though she now runs the dynasty her father built he struggles to call her anything but the petulant youthful human woman he first met her as, “I was just heading out.”

He gives her a chance; sees the opportunity for escape that flickers in her weathered eyes no longer young but no less defiant by nature.

Some people were just born ready to stand their ground. He always admired that about her.

“This won’t take long.”

One step forward, one step back. A familiar dance neither acknowledges as Isadora invites herself into his space. She’s not the oldest thing in the room by far, nor the most expensive. Still she commands the air around her to whisper softer, for the floorboards under her heels to wait until she passes to creak.

“Sure, come on in…”

She makes a point of trying to keep an arms’ length between her body and any clutter. He won’t apologize for it, not to her. She was half the reason he’s like this.

“I’m glad to see the Museum is treating you well.”

“Uh-huh.” He’s never met a de la Rosa good at small talk. He still hasn’t.

But she keeps trying. It’s hard not to cringe at every forced word, how she purposefully finds something to look at and mention; “New project, I see.”

Cadence doesn’t answer. She switches a black leather briefcase from one hand to the other; a poised woman’s version of shuffling her feet.

“You always were best kept —”

“I have somewhere to be.”

Her quirked brow says it all; how she definitely doesn’t believe him but calling him out on it is somehow counterproductive to why she’s here.

Why is she here?

Because the only reason he can conjure up has to do with the Coven, and the Council, and that’s why they’re enjoying nights like these at the Shift. To forget about everything that happened — to move on.

“Look, Izzy — if this is something that can wait, can it? I’ve got office hours tomorrow night—or hell, I’ll even come ‘round to the family house. But I do have somewhere to be, and I’m already late.”

When she takes stock of the room again he understands. It’s a tactic — and not a very good one — to allow her to think.

They’ve never been like this before. So why now?

It’s a brief flicker; blink-and-you-miss-it type. But Cadence doesn’t miss it — how Izzy stares at the chair claimed by Katherine in permanent marker.

“You’re going to meet her, the Nighthunter.”

“My friend Katherine, yes. Among others.”

“She treads dangerous waters in this town.”

It sounds a little too much like a threat for Cade’s comfort. Makes it a real effort to keep from letting it get to him.

“I think the same could be said for any hunter.” For Katherine, for Ryder.

“Yes, you would know,” she clasps the case handle with both hands over her front; a shield between them, “though this one — she’s different, isn’t she? She’s well-connected.”

Like he’s been fumbling around in the dark of his head — he finally finds the lamp chain and tugs. Lets the light flood through with an “Ah” of understanding.

So that’s what this is about.

“Contrary to what you may believe this isn’t the same world Carlo built his dynasty in. Humans — even Nighthunters and especially out-of-towners — they don’t whisper the rules to one another anymore.” Then, with firm conviction; “Katherine didn’t know she needed to ask your father for permission to bring Adrian Raines into town.”

“But you did.”

“Yeah, I did.”

If she’s here to enact some sort of delayed punishment, Cadence can’t promise he’ll stay civil. “I weighed the risks carefully,” he continues, “and decided it was best for everyone that no one knew who didn’t need to know.” Not that it had been a good choice. Maybe it could have saved Raines at his trial.

Sometimes he wonders why the two of them didn’t work out — especially when she was Turned. It wasn’t because of her perceived age, and obviously being his boss’ daughter hadn’t stopped them from getting involved in the first place.

He always remembers not a moment later. There’s a reason the term is ‘opposites attract.’ They were too similar — too hot in the head and both prone to speaking and acting without thinking ahead. Without considering the consequences.

So when she isn’t sneering an insult at him on the heels of Cade actually admitting to his wrongdoing… he knows something is very wrong.

“Izzy…?”

And the smile she offers is too forced, too fake. Sends shivers down his spine. “I’m glad you see things that way.”

“What way?”

She unclasps the briefcase with a flick of her little fingers. “That sometimes, in rare cases I think, withholding knowledge from someone is for the best; for all parties involved.

“I had prepared to give you this the night of the Minotaur’s championship fight…” The leather bound folder she pulls free is familiar only in that he’s seen the de la Rosa lawyers carry them like extensions of their hands. “And I have spent many hours since debating whether or not I made the right choice in keeping it close. Watching you in the cage — that made it easier.”

“Something’s happening, Kath—”

“Don’t fight it. Let it swallow you whole.”

Let it swallow you whole.

Katherine couldn’t possibly have known just how accurate she had been.

How it felt to stand at the edge of a yawning abyss no one else could see… and how it felt to have the ground fall out from under his feet the moment he decided to jump.

Memories of what happened after his meeting with Isadora still only came to him in clusters. It was less the act of remembering than feeling the same way — sensory triggers like the smell of blood or the tinny grate of a chain link fence.

Of course she had seen the fight. There were members of the underground community still who approached him on the street with praise for his ‘performance,’ or thanking him for standing up to the illegal deals Persephone covered with velvet and glitter.

But there’s a difference between knowing something and knowing it. Knowing the same hand he used to caress her cheek had also torn off the Minotaur’s horn. Knowing she was witness to it…

Isadora’s touch is solid, without the heat humans bring or the chill they feel. It simply is as she gives him the folder with no other choice. Whatever secrets rest inside they are his burden now.

“What you see here… I ask that you please not think less of me for keeping it from you. I was…” she doesn’t give an excuse — not a single one, “I was doing what I thought was right. But I cannot be the one to make that choice anymore. It’s too much Cadence; it’s far too much.”

He means to find comfort or some understanding in their hands. But there’s none to be found.

They pull away as intimate strangers. The space between them cavernous and echoing — and it only grows wider as he realizes she isn’t the one creating it.

He doesn’t need to ask what mystery he now holds.

What other mystery is there but the thing that has plagued him from their first “hello” to this their last “goodbye?”

Cadence’s voice is calm, even to his own ears. “Is this everything?”

“All that my daughter could find among his possessions.”

“And if I have any questions…”

“No,” she interrupts, “no you may not bring them to me. I would rather meet the sun than invite the conflict this will bring into my city, to my family’s doorstep.”

He wants to call her selfish but can’t say he wouldn’t be the same way were their roles reversed.

It’s a nice fantasy—altruism, kindness, doing the right thing so as not to hurt someone close—but it is a fantasy.

So what if he carried the ring she returned to him for a decade in mourning?

And intuition is a very separate thing from mind-reading; that he knows. In Isadora, though, the lines between them have always been a little smudged.

“In case you have any ideas of this meaning…” she breathes and tries again, “just know this has nothing to do with our past, Cadence. Consider this to be an act of release. Beyond what the Council will ask of us, I wash my hands of you.”

Isadora’s decision is as clear now as it was then. She will always choose her family over him. He can’t begrudge her that in the least.

“If only it were that simple.” But it’s probably for the best.

She leaves as abruptly as she arrived. Somehow with the ability to disrupt everything in his space without touching a single thing. As he looks around the office now it feels tainted with secrets and lies; all the things he still doesn’t know that now rest in his hand.

He need only look.

The chair is less than five steps away but he can’t muster the energy to move both his legs and arms; chooses the latter because what comparison is comfort to answers?

Cadence opens the folder and begins to read.

[burliforti]

Rose of England

My entry for the Good Omens fanwork exchange arranged by @transarmageddon. I created this based off a prompt from @vecieminde. The prompt that I was most heavily inspired by was “Aziraphale and Crowley exploring an abandoned place which glory days they might have witnessed”. Full disclosure: I am a bit of a history nerd and so one abandoned place turned into many which turned into a road trip across rural England with a pit stop in Wales. At certain times I veered a bit further from the main prompt than I was hoping but I hope you still enjoy! (About 9.5K and no warnings apply. I’m having a beta review it and then I’ll probably post to AO3) Heavily inspired by the Vera Lynn album “Rose of England” (I am bad at titles and simply borrowed that.) Definitely recommend a listen, it’s a wonderful album. Fic under the cut.

Prologue: London

It had been three weeks since the very last day of the rest of their lives. Not surprisingly, in the aftermath of perhaps the most chaotic week in all of creation Aziraphale and Crowley had been having some difficulty slipping back into their old routines. The sudden lack of oversight was a relief but left them both with a degree of freedom that they weren’t quite sure what to do with. Crowley no longer had to plan elaborate schemes to generate widespread low-grade evil and Aziraphale found himself without his usual laundry list of miscellaneous miracles and holy interventions, leaving both with a sudden and dramatic increase of spare time. Heaven and Hell had, apparently, taken their warnings to heart and had left them alone. 

They managed to slip into parts of their old routines. Aziraphale would go out to lunch in small french bistros and read Virginia Woolf in the plush reading chair in his study. Crowley had continued to scheme for a time out of habit but eventually tapered off to random pranks and messing with people who drive below the speed limit on highways and members of parliament. His house plant hobby had flourished into a full horticulture obsession. The apartment whose predominant palette had been black and grey for several decades now found itself green, green, and green. He wasn’t really one for flowers, preferring varieties such as ferns, ivy, and more recently, mosses. Crowley had acquired an impressive and wide array of mosses, spanning continents and centuries, quite literally finding himself with the only remaining iteration of certain ancient mosses (Crowley’s imagination did not know that these had gone extinct. He simply remembered soft, curling greenery on teak trees and there they had appeared). 

Aziraphale had also picked up a few hobbies. He had a tendency to do so. Dancing, magic, prophecies. They weren’t exactly phases (for he did still truly enjoy all of these things), but Aziraphale had a meandering mind that was always eager for new knowledge. Recently, he had come across an antique store looking for any interesting books. Instead, he had left the premises with a vintage camera that stood on a wooden tripod, that by all accounts should not have been able to work anymore, but miraculously, did indeed take photos. This began a new collection of vintage cameras and various other photographic contraptions. He particularly enjoyed taking pictures of nature (trees were much better at sitting still than wily serpents who would fidget and blur the images). Eventually, Crowley bought him a polaroid camera. He was annoyed of being forced to sit still for the negatives and dealing with Aziraphale hauling his many apparatuses on their walks. The polaroid was a bit newfangled for Aziraphale’s taste, but he enjoyed not having to develop negatives and being able to immediately see the images. Crowley did not mind this hobby as much as he had others (nothing could be worse than the magic. As long as taking photos of birds and elms prevented Aziraphale getting into card tricks or whatever nonsense than he would limit his complaints.) Yet even as they settled into old routines and found new ones, both beings found themselves on edge despite the apparent resolution to most of their problems. You see, Aziraphale and Crowley were bored. And Aziraphale had just the idea. 

“A vacation?” Crowley replied as they sat in St James Park, sitting on a bench watching the ducks bob in and out of the water. 

“It’s been so long since we left the city. Not since all that nonsense, and even that was barely two hours outside London. Before you mostly got around for work, and since our, well, retirement, I don’t believe either of us has really traveled much. Thought it might be a nice change of pace.” 

“And where exactly were you thinking?”

“Oh, nowhere in particular. Although there are a few sites that I’d like to revisit. It’s been so long since I properly traveled. Human beings have created some truly marvelous places.”

“Destroyed just as many too.” 

“And then rebuilt. I’m sure even you have an old spot or two you wouldn’t mind revisiting.”

Crowley paused, considering this with a great amount of reluctance. “I suppose it’s been a while since I’ve been ‘round the countryside.” He replied, begrudgingly. 

Aziraphale’s face lit up in a bright smile. “Splendid! I suppose there is no point in waiting around. I’m already packed, I will see you at the shop tomorrow, bright and early!” 

Crowley looked at him in disbelief. “Tomorrow?!” 

Rochester Castle

Crowley did arrive early, although it wasn’t a particularly bright October morning. He pulled up in his Bently and had hardly gotten out of the car when Aziraphale burst through the shop door, hauling a large two-piece antique luggage set and two vintage cameras.

Aziraphale flashed a brilliant smile “Good morning, dear boy!” Crowley walked over to Aziraphale and grabbed the luggage out of his hands. “Let me take that.” Aziraphale let him take the bags and took the cameras in both arms. “Why, thank you.” Crowley dragged the luggage toward the Bentley. “What on earth do you have in here? You’ve been wearing the same outfit for over a century.”

“Books, mostly. Some light reading I’ve been meaning to do.”

“Hardly light,” Crowley complained, lifting the luggage into the trunk with great difficulty. Aziraphale carefully laid out the camera equipment in the backseat, with the exception of the polaroid which he kept in a small camera bag over his shoulder. Crowley slammed the\trunk and sauntered over to the drivers side.

“So where are we off to, angel?”   

“Well I didn’t want anything too adventurous, and I know you’re hard-pressed to leave your vehicle. Perhaps a week or two, just in the countryside. Breath of fresh air, maybe even revisit some old favorites?” 

“Fine by me.”

“And I thought it best to start south and work our way up. What do you think?”

“Any destination in mind?” 

“Oh, not really. It’s been so long since I’ve been that farther south than London.”

“Ever been to Rochester Castle? Less than half an hour from here.”

“Rochester? Off the Medway? Shouldn’t that be at least an hour– Crowley slow down!”

They arrived 40 minutes later. Aziraphale was not incorrect in that it should have taken an hour and Crowley had also not been mistaken in that it could have been merely half an hour, but at Aziraphale’s continued pleas of “Slow down Crowley!” they had met somewhat in the middle. Luckily tourist season tended to slow down this time of year. The employees of the estate had kindly left them to their own affairs. Aziraphale had picked up a brochure and was reading it as the two of them explored the keep. 

“They say it had originally been given to Bishop Odo, probably by William the Conqueror.” 

“Never met him.” 

“Oh you weren’t missing much, I didn’t find him to be particularly charming. Although it is possible that I insulted him upon our first meeting. Never could wrap my mind around french. All that gender and tense. Feminine chairs and male houses, utter nonsense.”

“I believe houses are also feminine.”

“My point! Completely arbitrary. And the tenses, what language needs nine different types of past tense? They live such short lives I don’t see the point.” 

Crowley let Aziraphale rant as they continued to stroll along corridors and in and out of almost accurate historical reimaginings of bedrooms and parlors. Crowley hadn’t been to Rochester Castle since the Peasants’ Revolt in 1381. He really had absolutely hated the 14th century. He had gotten so fed up, in fact, that he had whispered in a handful of ears of ‘injustice’ and ‘revolution’. He hadn’t had much of an end goal in mind, just anything to shake up that dreadful century. It hadn’t really gone anywhere, unfortunately. He didn’t see much of Aziraphale that century, not with the war and the plague. Such a bore and with awful fashion. It had been such a relief when the Renaissance properly took off. 

“You’ve been awfully silent, Crowley.” 

He quirked an eyebrow over his glasses. “Let’s go to the gardens.”  

They made their way into the Castle’s exterior and into the gardens that encircled the estate. English roses, bright Dahlias, twisting ivys, and sweetly scented Begonias dominated the courtyard. Aziraphale was enjoying the vibrant colors and heavenly floral perfumes while Crowley glared critically at pests and withering leaves. 

“I think this is going to be a marvelous holiday.” 

Crowley wandered over to one of the bushes and picked one of halfway decent begonias, sauntering back over to Aziraphale. He walked directly in front of him and stopped just shy of the other man. 

“If you say so.” He replied, pinning the flower to a blushing Aziraphale’s lapel. 

“Oh, no need for all of that.” He said waving his hand toward the plucked stem. An even more vibrant flower bloomed in its place.  

“So,” Crowley asked, returning to his place by Aziraphale’s side, “where to next?” 

Bodiam Castle 

Aziraphale had asked one of the local historical guides, who suggested Bodiam Castle, which was an hour south of Rochester Castle near Robertsbridge in East Sussex. She had also suggested a local family run pub for lunch. Aziraphale had given Crowley a wide-eyed look to which Crowley could only roll his eyes and say “Yes, yes alright. It’s your holiday, angel.” Aziraphale had taken note at some point of the increase of Crowley’s use of ‘angel’ to describe him. He had subsequently filed away the observation to ‘thoughts that need no further introspection or deliberation’. They ate (or Aziraphale ate) a slow and peaceful lunch. He seemed to enjoy his fish and chips and was particularly impressed by the tartar sauce (homemade apparently, an old family recipe). The batter was also very pleasant but he didn’t much care for the chips. Crowley picked a few off of his plate absentmindedly. They ate mostly in silence, Aziraphale enjoying the fish and Crowley enjoying Aziraphale. 

They continued on their journey, arriving in Robertsbridge in significantly less than an hour (much to Aziraphale’s terror). Aziraphale had in fact once visited Bodiam Castle, many years ago during the war of the roses. It had been abandoned in picturesque ruins for decades but had been restored in the early 20th century. Crowley and Aziraphale explored the property. While the exterior had been well preserved, the interior was now in ruins. 

“It had been quite nice when I had visited. I was presenting as a clergyman on the road back in those days, you know. Made seeking shelter much easier and people would listen to me, which was quite helpful on certain occasions.”

“I imagine it explained all those Bibles you carried with you.”

“Well yes, I suppose that’s true.” 

“There is still a beauty to it now, albeit a different sort of beauty.”

“Seems like regular old ruins to me.” 

“You don’t feel any sort of, oh I don’t know, whimsy or appreciation?” 

“I don’t really go in for whimsy, angel.”

They continued to explore for quite some time, Aziraphale taking full advantage of their solitude and the picturesque ruins by taking many photographs, both with the antique camera on a tripod and the polaroid. Aziraphale had started off carrying the larger camera but Crowley had soon taken over after a passing mention of discomfort by Aziraphale. They made their way outside, strolling along the edge of the moat as the sunset. 

“Oh, what a beautiful sky it is tonight. Crowley, do you mind putting down the camera? I’d like to get some photos, lighting is simply marvelous.”

“Not like we’ve seen the sunset a million times already. The same sky and the same sun for 6,000 years.”  

Aziraphale ignored him, setting up the camera into the correct position. The tripod was close to the water's edge, overlooking the horizon. Aziraphale watched the sky change from red, orange, and yellow to deep purple and pitch black from behind a camera lens. Crowley watched Aziraphale burn brilliant in a fiery sky to softly glowing in the moonlit night.   

Tintagel Castle

Crowley suggested the next location: Tintagel Castle. It was quite a ways away on the southwestern coast but he insisted that the view was worth it, and besides it had been ages since either of them had been to the Celtic sea. It was by far the longest drive they had undertaken so far. A direct route would have taken five hours (perhaps three with Crowley behind the wheel), but Aziraphale had asked if they could drive past the channel on the way there and Crowley wasn’t exactly in the habit of denying any request or desire the angel had. With the scenic detour, the drive should have been close to 7 hours but ended up closer to five anyways, accounting for a lunch break.

Aziraphale was able to manage (tolerate, more accurately) Crowley’s breakneck speeds on the lonely country roads. Rolling hills with the occasional grazing livestock and farmhouses turned into rocky cliffs and blue-grey waters. Aziraphale enjoyed the picturesque landscapes and lack of the usual urban chaos, while Crowley enjoyed the lack of other vehicles and an open road where the speed limit was hardly a thought. They hadn’t talked much, Aziraphale occasionally putting on a CD (he didn’t quite grasp the concept at first but he was getting the hang of it.) Most of the disks had been left in the car and forgotten for more than a fortnight, and Crowley could only tolerate ‘We Will Rock You’ by Benjamin Britten or ‘We Are The Champions’ by Handle so many times. Thankfully, he had remembered to bring in some CDs from the apartment that had yet to become a compilation of Queen’s Greatest Hits. Aziraphale preferred classical, so they listened to Bach, Vaughn Williams, Holst, and various other (although predominantly British) composers. They were listening to Simple Symphony (actually by Benjamin Britten) when Crowley finally slowed and pulled into a half-full parking lot. Luckily the castle and surrounding expanse were quite large and the two could easily keep away from any crowds.

They explored the ruins of a castle for a time, Crowley relaying stories of his time in Richard of Cornwall (both from his time in the castle and during the Barons’ Crusade. Aziraphale had been preoccupied at the time by some work further west in Southampton.) Eventually, the crowds started to bother both of them and they naturally wandered away from the ruins and over the large bridge. 

“You know I rarely made it out to this part of the country, but it’s quite lovely.  The view is spectacular.”

Crowley squinted and peered upwards towards the gathering clouds. “Looks like it might rain.”

“Oh, I’m sure it would only take a slight miracle to ensure clear skies until the end of our visit. I was thinking for after– oh!” Aziraphale’s eyes went wide as the unfortunate combination of a strong gust of wind off the sea and a damp patch on the footbridge made him stumble and lose his footing. Before he could find purchase on the guard rails he felt two hands reach out and grab his arms, helping him upright. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley who in turn looked down at him in concern. 

“You alright?” 

Aziraphale laughed nervously, brushing himself off. “Oh yes, I’m quite alright, just taken a little off guard I suppose…” He trailed off. There hadn’t been any danger really, the footbridge had quite a high railing and Aziraphale had wings for heaven’s sake but peering down at the cold water crashing up against the stony cliffs made his head spin for a moment. “Thank you.” He finally said. 

Crowley made a noise of displeasure in return, “Can’t have you being discorporated middle of your vacation abandoning me in Cornwall of all places.”

“Our vacation. Besides, you suggested Tintagel.” 

“Ngk.” 

Neither of them made the first move, remaining stationary on the footbridge for another beat. 

“You can let go of me now, Crowley.”

He looked down at his hands which were indeed still wrapped around the other's arms. His cheeks turned slightly pink as he let go, refusing to look at the other as they continued on.  

Glastonbury Abbey 

Aziraphale insisted they stop by Glastonbury Abbey the next day, tentatively starting northward. 

“I’m shocked you never made it out there yourself back in the day, dear boy. Frightfully important, I can recall quite the drama and importance for quite a long stretch of time. Second only to Westminster.” 

“I avoided abbeys as a general rule. Parishes, monasteries, cathedrals, whole lot of them. Not exactly my scene.”

“Shame really, some truly exquisite architecture. The food wasn’t exactly top-notch, but some of the better dining from that era at any rate. I’d imagine you’d be quite fine now, been in ruins for centuries.” 

The sky was clear and blue, the grass a vibrant green. There were a few tourists who were wandering about the grounds but left the two beings be. They wandered through the decrepit cathedral, ceiling completely gone and missing good portions of the walls. While Aziraphale doubted that any previous blessings were still in place, Crowley was wary and remained outside of the ruined Holy buildings. 

“It really was quite a marvel. I had the occasion to visit on a number of occasions throughout the centuries, sent here quite often for holy interventions, miracles, enlightenment, heavenly visions, the whole nine yards as they say. You’re sure you never made it over here during, well, the Arrangement?”

Aziraphale quieted at the last two words. He had always been much more prudish, more embarrassed regarding their previous understanding. Perhaps it was because Crowley had much more experience rebelling and bending rules, but if they were being honest with themselves (although they rarely were), Aziraphale also had a fair bit of experience bending rules, he was just more adept at making excuses for it and felt much more guilty about it afterward.  

“Nope. Besides, I believe the heyday of the great Abbeys predated our agreement.”

“I suppose that’s true. Those old Catholics enjoyed their drama. I tried to stay out of it mostly, politics was never really my forte. I recall having to give a vision to one of the old Abbotts back in the 12th century. Something about inspiring a new sermon, I can’t quite recall.”

Crowley made some noise to indicate that he was still listening (which he was in fact doing. He liked to put up an air of indifference but he always listened, and Aziraphale knew this.) 

“You know I was able to get a first edition of “On the Antiquity of the Glastonese Church”? Signed by William of Malmesbury. Wonderful historian, and splendid company. He had a terrific collection at the Malmesbury Abbey and was kind enough to give me a number of his books, all with signed inscriptions. Later in his life, he was kind enough to gift me some of the notable works in his personal collection. His second edition of Gesta Regum Anglorum is a classic.”

Aziraphale continued to ramble on as they explored the Abbey grounds. Crowley listened quietly but intently. Their conversations usually involved both of their active participation but Crowley had never minded whenever Aziraphale would stumble into his ramblings. They occasionally reminisced, exchanging amusing stories and recounting shared adventures, but on that rare but treasured occasions a topic would arise and Aziraphale could literally talk for days on end, one story spilling into the next. Crowley’s original thought to describe it had been cute, but that couldn’t possibly be it.     

“It’s impressive how long these have stayed standing, even if they have fallen into a bit of disrepair.” Aziraphale finally quieted, inviting a response from Crowley. 

“‘Spose. They always did like to show off. Always obsessed with posterity.”

“And these are hardly the oldest, even just in England. And we’ve been there for all of it.” Aziraphale spoke softly, his eyes unfocused as he gazed far beyond the old Abbey. Crowley glanced at him. He had a tendency to be sentimental after these long trips down memory lane. Crowley himself had never quite at the proclivity for the sentimental. 

“And they’ll keep building places of worship and keep writing history books. Come on, I saw a sign for a nearby for an italian restaurant, we’ll grab you some lunch.” 

Bath 

After lunch, they drove a bit farther north to the city of Bath. This had been the largest city they had visited so far. They stopped by bed and breakfast on the outskirts of the town, preferring the larger space, quiet countryside, and easy parking it provided. They took the day to explore the city, visiting various historical sites. They walked by the Abbey (although they did not venture inside as a courtesy to Crowley), Pulteney Bridge, strolled down Royal Crescent, popped briefly into Holburne museum but quickly left when Aziraphale got fed up with the minor inconsistencies and incorrect speculation. They continued their walk and eventually came across a beautifully restored Georgian home with a bronze plaque that reads: 

Here lived William Herschel 

A.D. 1781 

and a sign above that that read ‘Herschel Museum of Astronomy’. It looked to be mostly vacant, which made sense seeing as it was about 2 o’clock in the afternoon on a Wednesday during the school year, with the peak of the tourist season being a few months behind them.

“Oh, I remember that fellow. Quite the eclectic man; astronomer, biologist, musician, and composer, though if memory serves his scientific career fared better than his artistic one. I saw the premiere of his eighth symphony and you know, I really did enjoy it. I’m not sure why he’s been relegated to the background of classical composers. I suppose now it’s so strongly dominated by Mozart, Haydn, Shubert, and a few other fellows that it didn’t leave much room for others. Truth be told I think Haydn might be slightly overrated. You write 107 symphonies but only a handful are noteworthy in any way. You knew him, didn’t you? I recall you hanging around with the Royal Astronomical Society for a time before sleeping through most of the next century.” 

Crowley hummed in acknowledgment. “Yeah, hung around with that lot periodically end of the 18th century. He and his sister, Caroline, pushed the field miles forward. Shall we head inside?” 

Crowley held open the door for Aziraphale and they headed inside the quiet Georgian household. They handed over a few pounds to the receptionist who put a little stamp of a planet with stars on each of their right hands.  They quickly passed through exhibits pertaining to more recent events, preferring to linger in the sections that focused on Herschel and his discoveries. 

“I liked him. Quite sharp. Corrected a few older discoveries, which I appreciated. It was annoying having to sit through some of those Royal Society lectures calling some of the star clusters nebulae. He and Caroline discovered and cataloged a boatload of nebulae, clusters, comets, the like. Nice to finally have your work properly appreciated after nearly 6000 years. We used to gossip about the bores over at the Royal Society and I helped get Caroline get a paid position at the government. I mean why would they be paying him but not her?”

“That was very kind of you, Crowley.” 

He made a face of displeasure in return, “Hardly. If she hadn’t been employed who else would have discovered my comets and cataloged my nebulae? Quite proud of those, you know, and no one there to appreciate all my hard work. ‘Oh look at the beautiful waterfalls, the beautiful forests’, please. Hardly any craftsmanship in a waterfall. Some rocks and a river. But a planetary nebula? A red dwarf? Combustion, gravity, electromagnetism, a delicate balance of helium, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and however many other elements. When old Will finally got that telescope of his up and running, the look on his face when he saw them all, it was like finally, someone can appreciate some true artistry. I will say the nerve of those two constantly referring to it as ‘the heavens’. Heaven wished it looked like that.”

Aziraphale looked wistfully at a newer photo of the butterfly nebula. “You know, during all that time it took humans to properly observe the cosmos, I appreciated it. All the stars and nebulae, pulsars and supernovae. I wasn’t able to get out much personally, but I was lucky enough on a few occasions. It was breathtaking. And on earth, we can see much farther than they can, even with some of their telescopes. I’ll spare a glance here and there when I get the chance, and it really is unparalleled.” Aziraphale stopped, still looking firmly at the nebula in front of him. He spoke softer this time. “Dare I say it, maybe even more beautiful than anything here on earth.” A pause. His head turned slightly towards Crowley and met his eyes beneath the shades. “Or rather, almost anything.” 

Crowley’s head snapped violently back towards the image, not daring to look back at Aziraphale. Earth had been almost entirely God’s pet project, the vast majority anyways. Some details had been relegated to other angels. But the earth had always truly been Hers. Aziraphale’s proclamation of the superior beauty of the cosmos was… a lot to process. Not to mention the meaning of the angel’s pointed glance at him. It was a bit too much for Crowley. He coughed, still not meeting the other’s eyes. 

“Off to the Baths then?” 

Kenilworth Castle 

“Kenilworth, now this is a real castle,” Crowley said, picking away at the grapes on the fruit platter. They had driven north from Bath that morning, exiting the South West and entering into the West Midlands. Crowley accompanied Aziraphale to a hearty breakfast before their departure. They continued to avoid the main roads, Crowley speeding through old dirt roads in the countryside. Aziraphale would point out every herd of sheep, every single baby calf, every mangy looking old goat while a look of utter delight and whimsy. He had become completely enamored with the countryside and Crowley was beginning to worry about how he would ever get him back to the city. 

“Oh look at those horses! There’s a small black foal, isn’t it just darling? Shall we stop by to say hello?” 

Crowley glowered at the animals that were grazing the field they were driving past and pushed down even harder on the gas in response.

“You’re no fun, my dear.” 

“Awful creatures. They smell, they buck, they attract flies, painful as all hell to ride, and generally terrible. Not even properly evil, just badly designed and poorly executed. The automobile is definitely among the greatest human inventions along with alcohol and sunglasses. Shame when they stopped making glue out of the bastards.” 

Aziraphale smacked him (not so lightly) on his arm, “Crowley! What an awful thing to say!” 

“What? They deserve it.” 

“My goodness, what on earth did horses ever do to you.”

“What didn’t they do? Centuries of sore buttocks, horse flies, and manure. The smell, Aziraphale, do you remember it? The streets were absolutely disgusting, it’s no wonder I stayed inside for most of the 18th century.”

“I think you’re being too harsh on them. I find them quite majestic.”

“Nothing majestic about your teeth taking up more room in your skull than your brain.” 

“Well, I quite like them.” 

He rolled his eyes, “Suit yourself, angel.”

They continued north for another hour or so, eventually stopping in Stratford-Upon-Avon to pick up some food for a picnic (actually Crowley’s suggestion) and to pay respects to an old friend. They continued on, taking many detours, arriving at the castle just in time for lunch. Crowley pulled out a picnic blanket from the trunk (whether it had been there the whole time or if he had just miracled it then, Aziraphale didn’t know. Regardless, he was touched by the gesture.) He laid it out under the shade of a nearby Ash tree that grew just a bit outside the central keep. 

“Yes, it had its fair share of excitement back in the day.” Aziraphale agreed. 

“Came to see King John here once. What a prick. That whole family was a mess. Richard and Henry weren’t that awful in the grand scheme of British royalty, although that’s quite a low bar. Oh, but John, totally insufferable. I was supposed to tempt him into rebelling but the bastard was already scheming before I got there, and not very well mind you. Didn’t bother helping out when it failed, I didn’t really feel like getting involved.” 

“I accompanied Elizabeth here a few times. Very intelligent woman, difficult life though. Popped in every-so-often to lend her a helping hand. I remember tutoring her briefly when she was a child. Incredibly bright and kind for a child of her age. The crown hardened her considerably, but who could blame her.” 

“Oh yes, she was a feisty one. One of the few British royals I had any respect for at all, although she still had her fair share of flaws, but who am I to judge?” 

They continued to eat, somehow always remaining in the shade despite the passing of hours. Aziraphale was usually quite silent when he ate, his mouth constantly full with the next delight Crowley had packed away into the wicker basket, so Crowley took it upon himself to fill the silence by recounting his many tales of Kenilworth and the events surrounding it, sprawled out on his side, one arm supporting his head. 

“You know the tennis balls had been my idea. I had meant it as an insult but I think Henry overreacted a little bit.”

Aziraphale paused his enjoyment of some shortcake, “At least we got a good play out of it.” 

“Fair enough. The old Bard never really bothered with historical accuracy but I didn’t mind with him. Made it better usually.” 

“I’d be inclined to agree.” 

Eventually Aziraphale had had his full and pulled out a book, leaning up against the Ash. Crowley moved closer, laying down beside him. 

“What are you reading?” 

“The Anabasis of Alexander.”

“He was a drama queen.” 

“This is a classic.” 

“I’m sure.” 

Aziraphale ignored him and pulled out his reading glasses. Crowley had never said this out loud, but he loved Aziraphale’s reading glasses. The glasses were practically ancient, picked up sometime during Crowley’s respite in the 19th century. He didn’t need them, and Crowley didn’t know why he wore them. A fashion he had picked up? Perhaps he simply enjoyed the completion of his ‘old bookkeeper’ look? At any rate, Crowley never complained when Aziraphale opened a large tome and took out the spectacles. He looked up at Aziraphale; ‘Cute’ he thought. There that word was again. The glasses made Aziraphale look intelligent, sophisticated, extremely out of date, and certainly not cute. Or at least, that’s what Crowley thought (or did he?) 

“Read a bit for me. I’m sure it’ll put me right to sleep.”

The angel huffed at the minor insult but settled in closer to Crowley anyways. The demons head was up against his thigh, arms at his side and legs bent upwards. There was a gentle warm breeze and songbirds that flew in and out of the ash. The sun was bright and hot but they were cool and comfortable in the shade, both subconsciously leaning into the warmth of the other. 

“In Ecbatana, Alexander offered sacrifice according to his custom, for good fortune; and he celebrated a gymnastic and musical contest…”

Plas Newydd

They stayed the night in Kenilworth after allowing themselves the luxury of a lazy afternoon followed by a warm meal at a local pub (in this part of the country, most options for dining out were pubs). The next morning they took the Bentley further northwest, crossing the border into Wales. The signs changed into a jumble of consonants and seemingly misplaced vowels. 

“I haven’t been to Wales in so long. I adore the people here, very charming folks. I do hope my Welsh hasn’t fallen out of shape, it has been quite a while.” 

They drove down the old country roads, Crowley for once not doing nearly double the speed limit, perhaps as a courtesy to Aziraphale or maybe because even he couldn’t bring himself to disturb the sleepy atmosphere of the small villages they passed through (although the most likely cause was simply extending their time on the road. He enjoyed the peace and solitude he shared with Aziraphale while they rode in the Bentley.) 

Aziraphale looked quizzically down at the map they had picked up in Shrewsbury. “I believe you take a right up here, dear boy.”

“Hope you aren’t getting us lost in the Welsh countryside, angel. All these villages look the same to me.” 

He looked up from the map and up to the signs with arrows on the side of the road, “No, we’re still in the correct direction. My navigation skills were unparalleled back in the day, I’ll have you know. Served on a privateer ship for a number of months and guarded over an exhibition or two back in the age of explorers.”   

Crowley looked up at the signs, recognizing one of the names, “Off to Llangollen then, are we?” 

Aziraphale looked over to him surprised, “You’ve heard of it?” 

“Visited it to, a couple of centuries ago.” 

Aziraphale looked delighted, “So you must have met the ladies then! Can’t imagine what else would bring you to the north-eastern Welsh countryside. I never realized you made it out to see them.” 

“Yeah, I visited them a handful of times while traveling between London and Dublin. Eleanor and Sarah. Haven’t thought about them in quite a while. Kept hearing about them and got curious.” 

“They were a delightful pair, wonderful hosts too. Elenor and I would sit in the parlor and discuss the recent literature. Poets, in particular, seemed to be drawn to Plas Newydd and most had left behind a copy or two of their work. I recall walking around the estate with Sarah and exchanging thoughts on current events. They were both surprisingly insightful despite their isolation.” 

“Bit too fond of horses for my taste, but I could respect how they rebelled against the system. Caused quite a stir for a while, and I enjoy good gossip. The scandal, the outrage, pretty funny if you ask me. Had a few interesting chats with them over tea.”

 What Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t realize is that on multiple occasions, they had both shared details of each other to the ladies of Llangollen. Crowley and Aziraphale were both singular personalities in their own way and it had not taken much for the two ladies to connect the dots between both ‘men’ (or what both had assumed to be men) stories. Aziraphale had visited them first, introducing himself as a friend of William Wordsworth. He had indeed discussed literature and current events, but sometimes over dinner one evening he had begun disclosing certain details about a dark fellow (certainly not a friend) that Aziraphale was doing business with whom he had some conflicting emotions. Within a year, a dark fellow with bright red hair had strolled up to Plas Newydd and introduced himself as a friend of the Shelley's. They had welcomed him in, but he was much more reserved than some of their previous visitors. However, after a bottle of gin, the stranger was much more open and willing to share some strange stories of his travels. He was well journeyed and quite connected, having stories from famous scientists, authors, criminals, and even royals. After a bottle of brandy had been opened, he started talking about a friend of his, or perhaps more of a coworker. They had known each other for quite some time but in recent years it seemed as if their relationship had developed a few more layers. As he continued to describe the acquaintance, Eleanor and Sarah had both glanced sidelong at each other with the same realization. 

As the two beings came and went, bringing new stories and sharing new details of their other half, the glances between the two women while the otherworldly being relayed their most recent thoughts on the other become more frustrated and knowing. It had been difficult not to intervene but they had both known it was for the best. One day, Aziraphale (or simply “Mr. Fell”) had come to visit. He discussed literature and current events like usual but never seemed to bring up his mysterious coworker. When they asked him about it, his face contorted like he had eaten something sour. They had had a falling out and were not talking to each other at the moment. The two women looked at each other in concern but didn’t attempt to press the issue. 

They had never seen Crowley again. 

Crowley and Aziraphale pulled up to Plas Newydd a short time later. Both Aziraphale’s navigation skills and Welsh had thankfully remained intact despite the disuse. The house had been well maintained throughout the centuries. Crowley purchased admission for them both. It had been turned into a museum a number of years ago, but both of them weren’t focused on the exhibits, sparing only a pacing glance at the displaces and descriptive plaques. Instead, they took in the house itself and the memories that returned to them with each room that they passed through. As they strolled within the many rooms: bedrooms, parlour, kitchen, library, and outside of the estate in the vast gardens and green rolling fields, the two cast sidelong glances at each other, not unlike two Irish ladies from centuries ago. 

Hadrian’s Wall 

They continued north on the same day, stopping for lunch in the village before they resumed their journey. After lunch, before they set off onto country roads, Crowley thought they should pick up some more CD’s. They had burned through most of the ones he had brought in from the apartment, and he was starting to get sick of not only “Killer Queen” but also “Fantasia on Greensleeves”. There was a little music shop in the quaint downtown that sold a handful of instruments, some sheet music, a bin of records, and yes, an assortment of CDs. It was a shame Aziraphale never slept since he had been mostly unable to listen to some of his personal favorites as the other being would be awake for the duration of their car rides. Aziraphale had fallen behind the times recently. Back before the advent of recorded audio, Aziraphale had needed to go out into the world to enjoy music, which kept him fairly up to date with the trends. However, after the advent of recording, Aziraphale had been able to enjoy the pleasures of the symphony from his own home, able to read or eat while he enjoyed the sweet melodies. And so he stopped attending the opera, symphony, or any sort of concert almost entirely. He still got out occasionally, when they were playing Beethoven series or one of his favorite Italian operas, but after the 19th century he was pleased to simply keep returning to old favorites (certain notable examples exist. Aziraphale was a fan of Kafka, Vaughn Williams, Rachmaninoff, Ravel, Bartók, and a handful of others.) He had listened to some ragtime and bebop, but he hadn’t been a fan and had simply abandoned all popular music afterward. Crowley drifted through the aisles but was mostly with content to let Aziraphale pick out the music. He was mostly hovering through the classical section, already with half a dozen new CDs. He wandered through a few other sections before walking back over to Crowley. 

“Nothing for yourself?”

“You seem to have enough already.”

They walked over to the cashier, Aziraphale setting about all of the CDs and Crowley pulled out his wallet. The old woman behind the cash rung up their purchase and Crowley pulled out the exact change out of his wallet. She accepted it graciously. 

“And where are you two from? Don’t get many visitors this time of year.” She spoke with a thick Welsh accent but must have overheard them speaking in english. 

Aziraphale smiled warmly, “London. Just taking a bit of a holiday, driving around the countryside.” 

“Oh that’s lovely. I prefer the weather this time of year anyway. I like the heat, but in the summer, a bit too hot in recent years. My husband and I drove up to Edinburgh back in July to visit our Lizzie for her wedding. We used to travel all over Europe in the summer months. A bit more difficult after the kids but we were able to bring them along when they were a bit older.”

“Oh yes, Edinburgh has become quite lovely in recent years. It’s been quite a while since I’ve visited myself.” 

“Well if you and your husband are continuing north, I would definitely suggest you stop by.” 

Aziraphale went red at her assumption. He sputtered in response. “Oh, um, well yes, thank you for the suggestion.”

She gave him a wide smile, “No need to be embarrassed, dear. Our Lizzie was marrying her girlfriend, Mackenzie, up in Edinburgh. Most people in these parts are quite accepting.” 

Aziraphale could only redden and nod his head. She handed Crowley a receipt. 

“Diolch.” He replied coolly, face unreadable behind the tinted glasses. 

“Cael diwrnod braf!” She replied as they walked out of the shop. 

They were finally back off onto the road. Aziraphale pulled out one of the new CDs. 

“Look what I found, Crowley. I thought you might like it.”

It was a collection of William Herschel recorded by the London Mozart Players. Crowley returned with a neutral grunt of acknowledgment that didn’t convey any particularly positive or negative sentiments regarding the recording. Aziraphale ejected the previous CD and put in the new one. 

“So where are we off to next, angel?” 

“You know, I’m not quite sure. I thought we could just… drive for a bit, and see where we end up?”  

Crowley grinned, “Not your usual style, ‘going with the flow’, ‘seeing where the road takes you.’”

He shrugged in response, “I’ve been trying many new things these last few months.”

And so North they went, out of Wales, up through the West Midlands and into the North West. They continued to bypass the highways in favor of country roads. They drove along the Irish sea, passing by Liverpool, Southport, and Blackpool. At Lancaster, they continued due North towards Kendal instead of continuing along the shoreline. Crowley made most navigational decisions, simply following his intuition. Every so often he would ask Aziraphale for input, but mostly they drove in silence. The angel mostly watched out the window, every so often cracking open the book he had with him. 

After another hour or so, Aziraphale finally perked up.

“Ah.”

Crowley looked over to him, “What?”

He pointed to one of the signs. It read “Hadrian’s Wall” and had an arrow pointing right. 

“We should go there.” 

And so Crowley make a sharp turn to the right, and off they went. 

After only another 10 minutes (Crowley’s maniacal driving had returned in full force), the two found themselves at the base of about a 5ft 2000-year-old wall. 

“Sort of a dumb plan if you ask me.” 

“Hm?”

“Not sure what Hadrian was thinking with this one. Bloody long wall on the fringe of the empire, middle of nowhere? Always seemed like nonsense to me.”

“Perhaps.”

“Next guy pretty much completely abandoned it. Did it ever serve any useful role at any point? Not like it was ever that high in the first place, not sure what he thought he could stop with it. Humanity has found its way across rivers, mountains, and deserts, but oho, not a five-foot wall, that’ll stop ‘em.” 

Aziraphale was setting up his camera. The wall was surrounded by kilometers of green fields speckled with trees that were changing color in the autumn season. There was a small lake about a kilometer down from the stretch of the wall that the two had found themselves at. 

“Sit still, won’t you? You’ll blur the image.” 

Crowley pulled his crossed arms slightly closer in. “Don’t see why you wanted a picture in the first place. Can’t you just get a couple of snaps of the herons over there and be done with it?”

“I have so few photos of you, dear. I’d like a few from this vacation. I’ve had such a lovely time so far. Maybe I’ll make a scrapbook when we’re back in London. Have you heard of those? Came across the idea a few weeks ago and I’ve been meaning to try my hand at it.”

“Don’t see why I need to be in them. Why do you need a photo when I’ll be around anyway? I’ll just ruin your landscapes.”

Aziraphale looked up from the camera and directly at Crowley with a twinkle in his eyes. “You know I think you look positively lovely, dear boy. Now shut up, I want at least one good one.”

And shut up he did. 

Tynemouth Priory and Castle (Edward II and Piers Gaveston + Duel?) 

They found a little country inn in one of the nearby villages. Crowley slept soundly in his single bed while Aziraphale stayed up reading. They ate the continental breakfast that was provided, Aziraphale putting a fair portion of homemade strawberry jam that the owner’s son had apparently made onto his rolls while Crowley enjoyed his cup of Lady Grey. 

“I feel like going to the coast today,” Aziraphale said in between mouthfuls of toast. 

“Which one?” Crowley replied, leaning back in his chair on the outdoor patio. 

“How about the North Sea? We did the Irish Sea, the Celtic Sea seems like the next logical step.” 

“Anywhere in particular?”

“Have you ever been to Tynemouth? There’s an old Priory and Castle. I was there all the way back in the 7th century. Nice little spot on the coast.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been, later though. Briefly in the 14th century, with Edward II.” 

“Well?”

“Fine with me.” 

They left a bit later that morning, going towards the morning sun due East. It was starting to get a bit chillier as they stretched further into autumn and the closer they got to the sea. It wasn’t a long drive by, even without Crowley behind the wheel. Soft piano music that Crowley didn't recognize was coming out of the stereo. It was pleasant, music that sounded like it came right out of a 19th-century parlor. Aziraphale was humming along while he read (a new book, yet again. He seemed to burn through a new one each day.) 

They drove up a hill right beside the coast to the ruins. They were the only ones there when Crowley pulled the Bentley off to the side of the dirt road. They got out in tandem and walked toward the abandoned castle. 

“Long time since I've been around here. I wouldn't mind making a habit of these little excursions.”

“I guess it's not half bad when you avoid tourist season.” 

“You said you'd been here before?”

“Yup, I was briefly a part of Edward II entourage trying to rile up some tensions within the court. You ever meet him?” 

“Unfortunately, no.” 

“Eh, weren't missing much. He and Piers Gaveston had been inseparable. Bit annoying but mostly harmless. Tragic end, but that was pretty common for that lot back in the day.”

“Nobles?” 

Crowley laughed, “Not quite, angel.”

They walked through the main archway. It had obviously changed significantly throughout the centuries, the brick and mortar now exposed to the elements, large chunks were missing and covered in moss, and yet in some ways, it hadn't changed at all. All of the roofs had crumbled away centuries ago, leaving the bright blue sky above them, with clouds blowing in from over the sea and the sun creeping higher into the sky. Birds nested throughout the ruins in little nooks and crannies, perched atop old towers and in between the remnants of windows. 

“I had my fair share of adventures here as well,” Aziraphale remarked. 

“Oh really?” Crowley said playfully, grin on his face. Aziraphale enjoyed the frequency with which Crowley had smiled during the trip. 

“I did return once after the 7th century, mid 16ty century after it was taken over by Henry VIII. Got into a bit of a tiff with a few visiting Italians.”

“‘Bit of a tiff’? What'd you do, get into a heated argument about the marinara sauce?” 

“Don't mock me, old boy. No, we handled the affair like men.” He replied primly. 

Crowley turned to look at him, “You didn't duel them, did you?” 

Aziraphale blushed a little, “It's not my usual style but the situation quickly escalated.” 

Crowley laughed, and it echoed around them. “Did you win?” 

Aziraphale looked insulted, “Of course I won! I wasn't given a flaming sword for no reason.” 

“What was the argument?”

“I can't quite recall where it started but I believe it ended when he called me a son of a bitch and I replied with something along the lines of 'You dare refer to the Lord that way!?' and drew my sword.” 

Crowley gave him a wicked grin, “Would have liked to see that.”

“We should spar sometime. I may be a bit out of shape but I'm sure I could show you a thing or two.”

“Definitely not. I was always rubbish with weaponry. Never really bothered with it. Prefer using my wits, and when a sword was necessary I just got someone else to do it.”

“Maybe I could teach you?” 

The offer was left unanswered, the two naturally returning to a comfortable silence as they continued their exploration of the old castle and priory. It was an old place, humans had been occupying the land for 2000 years, and yet they were still much older. This castle had been in ruins for centuries, and they had been there before, during, and after. They did not feel old within the new metropolises that had popped up in the last century but in the ruins of the civilizations that they outlived by millennia. They were old, but they were old together, and now nothing was there to stop them from being so. 

“Shall we go home?” 

Home. Crowley liked the sound of that when Aziraphale said it. 

“Yeah, let's go.” 

Epilogue: Dover Castle 

They drove south along the coast. Aziraphale had gone through nearly all of the CDs he had acquired in Wales, except one.  

“Vera Lynn? Didn’t realize you were a fan.”

“She had such a lovely voice. They broadcast one her performances on BBC during the war and I bought a record the next day." 

“How modern of you.”

“This one apparently came out this year. I like the cover art. Technology is unbelievable nowadays, over 30 tracks on a single side of this tiny disc.” 

It was later in the afternoon now, Vera Lynn serenading the duo as rolling hills passed them on one side and choppy grey waves on the other. It had been a well-needed disruption in their daily routines, a literal and figurative breath of fresh air. If Crowley was being honest (which he rarely was with himself) he enjoyed spending all this time with Aziraphale. The angel had allowed himself to enjoy their vacation much more openly, but Crowley had enjoyed it too, in his own way. He was old, which he did not care to admit. Humanity had aged him. 6000 years in the pits of hell was nothing, but 6000 years amongst billions of the busiest and most diverse animals on the planet had a way of reminding your how ancient you truly are. Most humans believed that the earth was billions of years old, and that was a length of time that Crowley did not care to imagine. Revisiting all of these old castles and villages reminded him just how much he had experienced already, so much more than any person could imagine, longer than any given human civilization. Up until now, the future had been finite, but now, thinking about all that he could still experience here on earth with seemingly no expiration date was equal parts exciting and terrifying. He looked over at the angel. He kept doing that throughout the trip. Glancing over at Aziraphale in the passenger seat, either reading a book or looking out at the scenery and on one extremely treasured stretch of the drive when he closed his eyes and ‘slept’ (Crowley doubted he had been completely successful in his attempt but it was a marvel to behold regardless.) How many more vacations would they have? How far would they go? The anxiety that had hovered over their previous encounters still loomed slightly, but it was quickly fading with each passing month. Where would they be in a year? He was nervous, terrified even. But looking over at the angel, the knot in his stomach seemed to disentangle itself slowly but surely. 

Aziraphale’s thoughts were significantly less deep. He was extremely happy with how the vacation had shaped up and was excited to plan out the next. He was still ready to be back home in his bookshop, he could only handle so much excitement and travel, but it had been energizing and thrilling in its own way. This trip had reminded him why he had settled in England. For all its flaws (notably the weather. Crowley would have also said the politics but Aziraphale didn’t make a habit of keeping up with current affairs), it was a beautiful country filled with kind and well-intentioned people. And had produced its fair share of good music. He had not listened to Vera Lynn in a while but somehow all those old tunes were still in his head as he hummed along watching the sun descend closer to the horizon. He saw a sign that said ‘London’ and when Crowley did not turn onto it, he looked over at the demon curiously. 

“Thought we’d make one more stop before heading back home. Just a bit further south.” 

Aziraphale was in no rush, so he made no objection. He slid back into his spot up against the window, head perched on his hand. They view slowly grew more and more populated, quaint villages into small towns and then again into cities. Aziraphale closed his eyes, just enjoying the music, enjoying the peace, enjoying Crowley. Even though he was not saying anything the demon's presence was so easily felt. He let himself soak up that feeling and they carried on. They crossed over the Thames and slowly returned to those quaint villages and green fields. The drive wasn’t very long (almost certainly to do with the incredibly dangerous speeds the Bentley had been driving at). They got out of the car and Aziraphale gazed upwards towards the imposing structure in front of them. It was well preserved, in a much better condition than the other castles they had visited. The main keep was surrounded by enormous walls on all sides. The castle itself stood upon a hill overlooking the English Channel. The sun was setting over the water far in the distance. Crowley hadn’t driven them up to the main castle, instead of off to the side closer to the rocky cliffs. 

“Dover Castle, the Key of England.”

Crowley got out off the car without turning it off so the music continued to pour out of the Bentley. Aziraphale followed, meeting Crowley who had walked around the car to his side. “Red Sails in the Sunset” faded out and familiar flute and string orchestra began to play. 

“They’ll be bluebirds over, the white cliffs of Dover.” 

Aziraphale began to blush, “Oh my dear, you didn't.” Except, when Aziraphale said ‘my dear’ the accent was not on the my and full of disbelief or frustration, but on the dear, and was not so much of an exclamation than a term of endearment, gentle and full of care. Crowley would never say it aloud, but he adored the way it sounded out of Aziraphale’s mouth, and especially since it was directed at him. He didn’t respond, instead, leaning against the angel watching the sunset over the castle, which he hoped was in of itself enough of an answer. 

Now it should be noted that ‘White Cliffs of Dover’ was that in fact included in the recording Aziraphale had purchased, but Crowley did not know that and imagined that it must be, and so there it was, just in time. The song (miraculously) matched up perfectly with the setting sun. Crowley (or maybe it had been Aziraphale. Both had slowly drifted into each other as night fell, hands brushing up against the others) slowly slipped his hand into that of his best friend. A quiet display of affection that meant so much as the stars began to emerge from the darkening the sky. 

“Tomorrow, just you wait and see.”    

[denbroughbill]

chapter 1 of “sky so blue”

word count 2.3k

author’s note based on the hc i wrote that recieved positive feedback! the medieval times written are not completely accurate just to be a little humorous and have fun with this story :) the lowercase letters are intended. also please let me know if the paragraph spacing is awkward! i’m working from tumblr mobile

there was a crooked, tiny, wooden cottage on the outskirts of the town of derry. the ivies outside had overgrown, wrapped around themselves and found comfort in the cracks of the house’s walls, making it an unruly sight to by-passers, but the owners enjoyed it that way. inside, there were shelves upon shelves lining the walls. they had books that were not in order and glass bottles of different shapes and sizes, filled with adder’s tongue, baby’s breath, and dragon’s blood.

this is where beverly lived.

beverly was a young woman, fair skin and face splattered with freckles, who was shunned when she cut her own hair with the blade of a sharp sword, offering her auburn locks wrapped in a tight braid to the norse goddess, frigg, ruler of marriage and love.

and it worked.

beverly’s partner ben was a blacksmith, who worked closely with the kingdom — their go-to man when armor and weapons required repair, which spared beverly from being burned at the stake for her witchcraft. he worked outside in their shed behind the cottage which held his swage block and hammers and bellows and drifts.

in the afternoons, there was a man in a hooded cloak. he would bring gifts of fresh bread and candles for ben and beverly, and ben would allow him inside.

his name was prince edward.

prince edward walked from his castle to visit beverly and ben, walked for hours starting at night until he could begin to see the sun rise on the horizon. at one point before, his feet would ache with every step he took, but he was used to this now. he had no fear in his mind or heart when he would look towards the village and see the dim lights from the houses, and he would set off on his trek to the village.

sometimes he would look back, though. he would look back at this fantastic castle, towering over the meek rest of the village. his grey eyes narrowed in anger, he looked back in disgust.

he did not have to duck under the ivy leaves that reached out to touch him or the herb plants in hanging pots. he was a smaller man, and looking up at the dangling plants was similar to looking at the chandeliers that adorned the castle.

candles were lit for edward’s arrival, and beverly smiled her all-knowing smile, beckoning him closer.

“so we meet again, edward.”

edward rolled his eyes in good humor, sitting on the wooden stool across from beverly, her work space separating the two.

“bev, please, i told you to call me eddie.”

eddie liked beverly because they shared the same belief system that the natural riches of the earth and their loved ones were worth more than anything. prince eddie was never one to decorate himself in silver or jewels; to him, every rock was precious, every ray of light golden.

she removed the clear crystal from the top of her deck of cards and began to shuffle. she had eddie shuffle the cards, too, filling them with his energy, thinking about the longing question he wanted beverly to reveal the answer to.

being a prince kept him hopelessly cut off from the rest of the beautiful world, and romance was something he constantly found himself craving. he never let those thoughts disturb him, for he knew that it wouldn't happen anytime soon. sometimes eddie wished that his prince charming would come rescue him from his dismal world of passivity. he would take him traveling all around the world, and he would assist him as he made his kingdom a better place. after one month, he would take his hand in his, kneel on one leg, pull out a wonderful diamond ring, and ask for his hand in marriage.

“this is the queen of swords — reversed,” beverly laid down a card on the table in front of eddie. pictured was the queen of swords, sitting on a stone throne, holding a sword in her right hand. this card was upside down.

“there is a treacherous enemy. a resentful, cold-hearted person blocking your relationships and clouding your vision.”

eddie shook his head, laughing, “that’s just my mom, bev.” she has also been shown as the queen of pentacles and the devil.

beverly pulled other cards. the queen of swords ruled over eddie’s chance of ever reaching the sun, the seven of swords, and the lovers.

he sighed.

“maybe you could try a different question? want a hex spell?” beverly asked with a friendly smile.

eddie thought to himself. there could be glass shards, dead scorpions, vinegar, or garlic in the jar. if he said yes, beverly would probably instruct him to cook his mom’s hair while she slept. or worse, an eyeball.

he politely declined. “hm, maybe some other time, beverly.”

“hey, stick around for a while,” ben placed his heavy hand on eddie’s shoulder. his warm smile brightened his coal-blackened face.

eddie thanked them both but decided it was time to leave.

treading through the grass once more, eddie thought the fortress of kaspbrak itself was a fine castle, built with a panorama of the surrounding land. from the towers once stood medieval watchers, quiver and arrow ready to fly, and moss clung to the ancient walls in the shade, which reminded him of beverly’s cottage.

he made it back before suppertime. the halls were bustling with activity, but the click of the heels of his leather boots on the tile floor stopped them in their tracks. there was complete silence except for the sound of eddie walking through the halls and his personal butler walking towards him.

“good evening, william.”

“you muh-must change for supper.”

the suits of armor and framed oil portraits of elders towered over the both of them.

he liked william a lot. his mother had lined the potential workers in front of him one day and allowed him to chose his person butler himself. the rest were picked off to work the courtyard grounds and cook meals.

eddie picked william because he was close to his age. he liked his red hair and blue eyes, and sometimes william visited eddie in his daydreams of marriage. eddie also thought he would look better in the gold lacework and rich embroidery clothes eddie had to wear. william liked how eddie allowed him to spend time in the courtyard when he was not tending to the prince; he thought he was kinder than the queen, and they became good friends.

but neither would allow eddie’s mother to hear the boys call each other out of their formal names or whisper and laugh together, nor would they let her majesty see william pick loose leaves and twigs out of eddie’s blonde hair.

there was no need to question the prince; he was obviously visiting beverly again. there was a long, painstakingly unnecessary spiral staircase that led to where eddie slept.

william ushered him ahead, opening the heavy wooden door to his chambers. he would be back to fetch eddie when he was dressed properly.

prince eddie stood in front of the open window, head perched in his hands as he watched the bright, clear lake shimmer in what was left of the sun. he wondered frequently why he had to dress for the occasion of sitting across the incredibly long table, where food was in such abundance that it looked more like decoration, for just him and his mother to eat. it made him angry, the thought of food going to waste as the queen at the opposite head of the table rubbed her full, plump stomach.

a voice called out from below him and pulled eddie out of his thoughts. “could you help me out?”

“oh, yes. my apologies,” eddie said. reaching outside the window, he grasped the clothed covered hand of a man.

he screamed and jumped backwards, reality setting in now. there was a stranger climbing the cobblestone walls of the castles, how had he not noticed? was this thief foolish enough to climb through the prince’s chambers to steal from the bottlery? was this planned — had he chosen this window, knowing it was the prince’s, to hold him hostage? he hoped william had heard him.

eddie stood with his back against his wardrobe, fist tightening around the door knob. he fought between the thoughts of fighting to the death or flinging the door open and hunkering down small, hiding himself between long silk robes and hidden jewels. he understood now why the thief had chose his chambers.

the man acted quickly. with the boost eddie had given him, he was able to grab hold of the edge of the windowsill and climb through the window.

and before prince eddie could grab the glass candelabra from his bedside table and wield it as a defense weapon, there was a man standing in his room.

eddie did not care how well-dressed this man was — there was an intruder in the castle. and he didn’t care how tall, dark, or handsome he was, either.

he could not cut, thrust, or slash with the candelabra, but he was willing to try. his knuckles were turning white from his tight grip. eddie didn’t have to pretend to be brave; he could call for a servant or guard immediately, but then the mysterious man could attack. he noticed the actual sword in the man’s bronze scabbard, and his eyes widened.

the man firmly placed his hand on eddie’s mouth before he could call out and wrapped an arm around his waist. eddie clawed at the gloved hand for his life as fear and dread swirled in his stomach. he’s watched his mother force two townsfolk to fight to the death for entertainment rather than call for the jester. the sight was evil, twisted, and bloody, and eddie did not want stains like those on the finest silk of the land. he tried his best to fight back and squirm, but his grasp was too tight.

“i don’t want to hurt you.” eddie stopped struggling when he loosened his grasp, but still trembled in fear. the man let out a soft laugh, and his voice was smooth and soft spoken, but strong somehow, like he wanted eddie to believe him. he removed the hand from eddie’s mouth, and placed it on firmly on his shoulder, other hand on his waist now.

he was taller than eddie, with dark skin, strong shoulders, and brown cassiterite eyes ��� heart-stopping eyes that flickered when he said, “i want to marry you.”

“oh,” eddie laughed, slapping the man’s chest in a manner that said, ‘how foolish of me.’ “why didn’t you just say so?”

they leaned closer, a faint smile on the man’s lips and eddie giggled under his breath. when he thought of his moment before, he thought he would be in a horse drawn carriage, or whisked away on the back of a white, noble steed. he didn’t even know this man’s name, but butterflies in his stomach told him there was no time for introductions now.

as their lips drew closer, there was a knock on the door.

“the queen is wuh-waiting for you to accompany her.”

“okay, you hide in here,” eddie whispered, grabbing the man by his lapel. he forced him inside his wardrobe. “what’s your name?”

“michael, prince edward.” michael responded, silk hanging over his face now.

“okay, mike, i’ll be right back.”

eddie plastered his most charming smile onto his face, forcing himself to enjoy eating in the grand dining hall with his mother. at least stanley’s performance was enjoyable.

eddie called him stan for short, and he had sunken eyes and curly hair and what eddie thought to be a rather lovely nose. the entertainment consisted of satire and self-deprecating humor, but he was nice. eddie also thought it was silly when he danced with his scepter and the bells from his hat jingled. stan was loyal and friendly, and even the queen enjoyed his company. she even consulted with him once to make strategies for battle— stan had agreed with everything she said because he believed she just wanted to hear herself talk.

supper ended, and eddie did not protest about all the food that had gone to waste, partly because mike was waiting in his wardrobe, and partly because he knew what his mother would say; “that's how hierarchy works.”

the halls were nearly deserted, and only their shadows followed as eddie strolled with mike, hand-in-hand, showing him every inch of the castle. he learned that michael hanlon was a farmer who worked in the fields under the blistering sun from dawn until dusk. he assured him he wouldn’t have to do that anymore, his smile as warm as the candles and lanterns illuminated around them.

“and this is our oubliette. this is where my mother leaves prisoners to die.”

mike gasped. “that’s kind of cool.”

“what does that mean?”

“i don’t know.” they both laugh.

eddie sighed, heartfelt and knees weak. “oh, mike, i’ve had so much fun getting to know you. i can’t wait until we marry,” he said, bringing mike’s hands to his chest. then he exclaimed with a brilliant idea, like if the light bulb had been invented then and it was dangling over his head.

“let’s marry tomorrow! at sunset!”

the excited gasp brought attention to the pair, alerting the guards that there a intruders afoot. eddie thought fast, and pulled the two into a small, dark corridor. he wasn’t afraid of his guards by any means, it was his mother he feared. and he did not particularly need to sneak mike around, but it was kind of fun.

they were pressed together, breathing heavily from the anticipation of being caught. their faces drew closer, laughing softly, and the image of doves flying crossed eddie’s mind as they kissed.

prince edward had always seen beverly and ben kiss, but he never knew what it felt like. a surge of energy and passion from being engulfed in this kiss made him think he should’ve asked beverly for a love potion years ago. he never wanted this moment to end.

and it wouldn’t, as they would be married at sunset tomorrow. eddie could not think of a single thing that would ruin their nuptials. taglist: @reddiesetrichie, @veganmikehanlon, @bumblerea, @eddiessecondfannypack, @tinyarmedtrex, @jwilliambyers, @edstozler, @eddiecare, @stephenskings, @constantreaderfool, @imeddie, @kaymcgivemeacall, let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

[eileentothestars]

Today I am going to kind of review but mostly scream about Batman ‘66 Meets The Man From UNCLE because it makes me happy.  Yes, I know this comic came out like two years ago but I don’t care and you can’t stop me, so either strap in or scroll past, kids.  No knowledge of either show required.  Spoilers ahead.

So ‘60s Batman is famous for being a camp fest, but The Man from UNCLE did that too; the 1965-66 season started to slide into light camp and even did the whole two-part-episode-separated-by-a-cliffhanger thing (”Alexander the Greater Affair,” Parts 1 & 2) several months before Batman debuted and made it legend.  But it wasn’t a one-way relationship.  When Batman proved a monster hit, MFU cranked the camp up several notches to try to siphon off some of their success.

In other words, this is a perfect choice for a crossover, even if the timing of this comic’s release (early 2016) makes me think they only did this in response to the 2015 MFU reboot movie.

So the comic revolves around a mysterious agent of THRUSH, the evil organization UNCLE frequently went up against, recruiting several Batman villains for some nefarious purpose, and you know what that means: STUPID DEATH TRAPS GALORE WHEEEE

Once again Illya is given reason to despair of heterosexuality.

The villainess there is Olga, Queen of the Cossacks.  Her captives are, of course, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, the men from UNCLE.  If you’ve never seen the show, that’s okay, the comic helpfully pilfers the opening sequence from the very early episodes to introduce them to you.

Olga takes a liking to Illya based on the fact that they were both played by actors who are clearly not Russian and lets him go... as long as he promises to kill Napoleon.  Illya is very happy to go along and semi-pretends to smack Napoleon around a bit.

Well he wasn’t THAT happy about it.  But what would either of these shows be without blatant innuendo?

Skipping ahead (do I even need to tell you they escape?), Batman and Robin have their own near brush with death at the hands of the Penguin, who admits he was working with THRUSH.  Thankfully for the Caped Crusaders, their butler Alfred just happens to be an old friend of Waverly’s, and both sets of characters finally come together at a fancy-pants soiree at Wayne Manor.

1) I love the fact that Alfred and Waverly were army buddies 

2) I need to talk about the art for a second.  It’s mostly pretty good, but then you get weirdness like the above.

For the uninitiated, Alfred was played in the ‘60s show by Alan Napier, who was 6′9″ to Adam West’s (Batman’s) 6′2″.  And yet somehow here he’s the same height as Waverly, who was played by Leo G. Carroll.  IMDb says Carroll was 5′10″, which I suspect is an exaggeration, but regardless, Alfred should be TOWERING here.

Now this panel seems a little more accurate in terms of the height differences. (Robert Vaughn was apparently about 5′8″, making him Burt Ward/Robin’s height, but again, this is from IMDb which is a lying liar so idk anymore). Clearly the artist knew what the actors were supposed to look like, so I really don’t know wtf was up with Alfred there.

Speaking of weird artistic choices, there are some artist’s notes included in the back of the book as a bonus feature.

“handsome but generic” lol ouch

asldfhalsdjflasldflaks;dl

Um pardon me but what universe is this artist living in that he thinks that sweater is “frumpy?”  Lana Turner could walk into a malt shop and get discovered in that sweater.

ANYWAY back on track.

THRUSH’s Bat-recruits crash the fancy-pants soiree to steal a science doohickey.  Said recruits include some relatively minor villains from the ‘60s series, like Siren, Egghead, Sandman and Mister Freeze, as well as characters who never got a chance to appear on the show, like Scarecrow and Poison Ivy.  Ivy has a southern accent for some reason, but it works, so I’m not complaining.

The attack leads to this fantastic panel.

So now our heroes have to figure out where the bad guys took the science doohickey and what their ultimate plan is.  The Bat-clan and the UNCLE agents hold a video conference to compare notes, which Robin is super hyped about because VIDEO CONFERENCE IN THE ‘60S YOU GUYS

Wow wait what the sh--

Never let Napoleon run a Skype chat

So UNCLE has discovered the bad guys’ hideout is off the coast of Monaco, with the help of a random lady named Blanche (she of frumpy sweater fame).  See, part of MFU’s shtick was that some innocent bystander--usually a woman--would get dragged into the mission du jour and help our heroes resolve it.  That element really gets shoved to the sidelines in this comic, and that’s fair enough.  We already have a lot of main characters running around.  Blanche only shows up for like three pages, but it’s long enough for Bats to give his unsolicited opinion.

Surprisingly, Waverly’s response is not “Yeah well you bring an underage boy in hot pants on your missions so stfu.”

So off to Monaco we go--and yes, an ersatz Princess Grace does show up, thanks for asking--only for everyone to get captured and dragged to an undersea base.  There we finally discover our main villain: Doctor Strange (not that one... though now I want that crossover too), a THRUSH agent who got into Arkham Asylum as a psychologist in order to determine which villains would serve THRUSH best.

I mean she’s not wrong.

Basically Hugo Strange’s plan is to slowly brainwash all of our heroes into becoming his pawns so they’ll help him achieve world domination.  His brainwashing methods look suspiciously like the Bohemian Rhapsody music video, anachronisms be hanged.

NEVER LET ME GO (LET ME GOOOOOOOOOOO)

FOR MEEEEEEEEEEE *vigorous headbanging*

Okay this post is already way too long so let’s wrap up.  Our heroes manipulate the Bat-villains a bit, pointing out that Strange only sees them as subordinates, which hurts their egos enough that they’re willing to team up with both dynamic duos to defeat Strange.

Side note: Batgirl is in this comic and she is amazing.

Look at her kicking the heads off Ivy’s plant men like a BOSS

A hundred feet under the ocean and outnumbered seven to one and she’s still ready to throw down.  THAT’S MY GIRL

And you can probably guess the rest of the story: heroes triumphant, villains defeated, and there is also a giant octopus involved.  So if you were disappointed in the ‘66 Batman movie where Penguin mentions having a trained octopus but never shows it to us, I hope this will heal the octopus-shaped hole in your heart.

So anyway, that’s the comic.  I skipped over a whole lot of cool stuff so please buy it and also both of these shows and also the Batman ‘66 comic in general.  One day I may do a post about Batman ‘66 Meets The Green Hornet too because it is actually EVEN BETTER

[aion-rsa]

The Mandalorian: How Luke’s Powers Compare to Ahsoka’s

https://ift.tt/3sNIrpO

Just last year, The Mandalorian’s unforgettable second season finale provided the early post-Original-Trilogy glimpse of Luke Skywalker for which Star Wars fans have long-craved. Yet, it was apparent that the Original Trilogy protagonist’s powers increased exponentially in the five years that passed in the timeline; a notion that reinforced the belief that Luke is the most powerful Jedi in the universe. However, the impressive live-action debut of animated icon Ahsoka Tano earlier in the season invited a debate on Jedi powers. It’s a topic that was recently reignited, thanks to comments from executive producer Dave Filoni.

The recent premiere of Disney+ documentary series Disney Gallery: The Mandalorian Season 2, Episode 2 has proven profoundly revelatory about the technological magic that brought a Return of the Jedi-era Mark Hamill back onscreen in 2020 as Luke Skywalker for The Mandalorian “Chapter 16: The Rescue.” Interestingly, it also revealed the thought process that went behind the way that this rendition of Luke would be presented, powers-wise. After all, the scene in question, while poised to deliver the reddest of red meat moments to the fandom, still needed to be executed with the narrative discipline to present Luke as an awe-inspiring Force-powered figure while avoiding the pitfalls of making him an obscenely overpowered plot-lifting deus ex-machina manifestation. However, in explaining his though process on limiting Luke’s powers, Filoni unwittingly kicked an Ahsoka-shaped hornet’s nest.  

“It would be very easy to just make [Luke] so over-the-top skilled,” says Filoni. “But I was like, ‘You know, what’s interesting is he’s had training, but I don’t know who’s been teaching him sword-fight training lately.’ So, he had to have a style that was better than what we saw in Jedi, but fundamentally still of the same tree of sword-fighting technique. And his technique and Ahsoka’s technique should be very different. And technically, she’s had vastly more training than he ever has. She’s actually his senior, which is, I think, difficult for people to remember ‘cause of when these characters were created.”

Filoni’s comment led to a debate of sorts on (where else?) Twitter, the welcoming social media hub for measured, mature and always-respectful discourse over differing opinions. Possibly attributed to perceived bias on the part of Filoni (as Ahsoka’s creator), the comment was taken as a claim that Ahsoka is more powerful than Luke. While that, of course, remains subjective, his actually-stated notion of Ahsoka being Luke’s senior is factually accurate, based on the canonical timeline. Additionally, her training in the ways of the Force was substantially longer and more formal. While that doesn’t necessarily make her more powerful, it does likely mean that she’s more knowledgeable than Luke, not just from being older, but due to the pedigree of her Jedi training.

Ahsoka’s academic program started after being found by Jedi Master Plo Koon as a small child on her native planet of Togruta, after which she went through the regular academic wringer at the Jedi Temple under the direct tutelage of myriad Jedi Knights and Masters, patiently trained to harness her innate Force powers in what was to be a life-long learning endeavor. Indeed, the grandiose, elite life path of Jedi was first implied in The Phantom Menace when Yoda initially deemed an 8-year-old Anakin Skywalker “too old” to be trained in the ways of the Force. Clearly, Coruscant’s Jedi Temple is no one’s backup school.

Read more

TV

How The Mandalorian Resurrected a Jedi to Cover Luke’s Surprise Role

By Joseph Baxter

TV

What The Mandalorian Means for Ahsoka Tano’s Future in Star Wars

By John Saavedra

Indisputable facts state that Ahsoka was wandering the galaxy toward the end of the Clone Wars as a formidable apostate Jedi well before Luke was even a forbidden gleam in the sand-hating Anakin Skywalker’s eye. We even witnessed a notable step in her extensive training process in Star Wars: The Clone Wars’ 2008 series-launching feature film, in which an adolescent Ahsoka—already a skilled fighter—was first assigned as a Padawan learner to an initially-reluctant Anakin. Naturally, we saw Ahsoka’s skills evolve for years on the series, tested against the events of the titular war, and she would even rise to supreme splendor years later upon resurfacing on Star Wars Rebels to take on Darth Vader. Consequently, by the time we reach the post-Return of the Jedi era of Rosario Dawson’s live-action Ahsoka on The Mandalorian, she clearly achieved a sagely level—not just when comes to her signature two-lightsaber combat style, but also deep wisdom regarding her spiritual connection with the Force, through which she was able to reveal Baby Yoda’s true name as Grogu. In the very least, most can agree Ahsoka would have a lot to teach Luke—that is, if they haven’t met already, which we don’t know for sure.

Nevertheless, in a stark contrast pertinent to our pandemic era, Luke Skywalker was the original distance learner; a product of formerly-lofty institutional standards loosened out of necessity (in this case the extermination of the Jedi Order). His in-person training was—at least, as portrayed in the Original Trilogy—severely limited to a few fundamentals imparted ever-so-briefly by Obi-Wan Kenobi on the Millennium Falcon, and later from what amounted to a few days of Force training on Dagobah with Yoda. Consequently, in the arena of formally recognized Jedi credentials, Ahsoka is an Ivy League university graduate with workplace experience from years fighting the Clone Wars. Luke, on the other hand, came off a fast-tracked Jedi GED to earn a Jedi Skills Certificate from the proverbial online school of discovered Jedi texts and holocrons, making him a galactic Zoom class student, presumably deprived of opportunities to physically implement what he’d learned.

Of course, those ideas don’t necessarily seal the deal in the Luke/Ahsoka debate (if it even is a debate), since the true extent of Luke’s post-Jedi education is not really known. While “The Rescue” didn’t answer the question of who’s been teaching Luke advanced lightsaber techniques, the ease and stylistic panache with which he single-handedly dispatched a heavily-armed and armored platoon of Moff Gideon’s robotic Dark Troopers make it abundantly clear that his combat skills somehow evolved substantially from the rudimentary wide swipes and overhead caveman-swings showcased in Return of the Jedi. Thus, Luke’s upgraded skills seem attributed to something far more substantial than ancient books. Additionally, his life in the post-Original Trilogy, pre-Sequel Trilogy remains fertile ground in the Disney-designated franchise; a state due in no small part to the company’s canonical erasure of the vast array of Expanded Universe books and comics, now dubbed the “Legends” lore, which extensively showcased a now-apocryphal version of that era.

However, as we’ve seen with the Force, combat skills don’t necessarily make one more powerful, at least not in the manner through which the Jedi view the balance of the universe. For example, Qui-Gon Jinn was defeated in a duel with a mere Sith apprentice in Darth Maul, but his spiritual knowledge facilitated a subsequent trail-blazing ascension to the living Force, becoming the first fully-manifested Jedi Spirit, as vaguely teased in the Prequel Trilogy, and showcased on Star Wars: The Clone Wars. Moreover, Matthew Stover’s novelization of Sequel Trilogy closer Revenge of the Sith provides a key contextual moment omitted from the film, since Qui-Gon appears to Yoda fully-manifested as a Jedi spirit, offering to teach him the technique. At that point, the ancient and conventionally more-powerful Jedi master admits his hubris and exercises humility, stating to the spectral Qui-Gon, “A great Jedi Master you always were, but too blind I was to see it. Your apprentice, I gratefully become.”

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Pertinent to this point, the version of Luke we saw over 30 years beyond the timeline of his monumental Mandalorian moment in sequel films The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi may have been—to much controversy—disheveled, disenchanted and oddly-indifferent, but he was able to demonstrate some unprecedented Omega-level abilities (to borrow from the X-Men’s parlance). This idea proves that Luke’s Force education—such as it was—was nevertheless substantial enough for him to form a Jedi Academy to carry on the lost traditions—tragic ending of said academy notwithstanding. Consequently, any earnest debate about which Jedi is more powerful would likely require far more detail and nuance than the various agendas of the Twittersphere are able to conjure.

The post The Mandalorian: How Luke’s Powers Compare to Ahsoka’s appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[frostbite883-archive]

Well, either of your ideas that you had written was already written before (albeit differently) by someone else a while back basically (out of the fact that I made questions similar to the ones I gave you which resulted in tumblr bloggers giving me different answers to them). 

gingerly-writing: to this ask I filled out for them. I’m pretty fucking pissed off, and I’ve had my fury checked out by uninvolved parties to make sure it was righteous. It’s righteous.

Me: Not entirely so.

gingerly-writing: First off, feel free not to send people rude-ass messages after they’ve put time and effort into coming up with a response to you? 

Me: The top comment there (the “Well, either of your ideas” comment) wasn’t really the rude comment I typed out. The other one was (which I’m sorry for) which you didn’t copy paste in your third post so other bloggers can see it as that public evidence is vital for context.

gingerly-writing: Also, I thought you were going to use my idea and have me to thank you or something for it when I came up with something like my asks I gave you and something to the equivalent of your “heroes and villains school” stuff before I replied to your ask box sometime ago. Basically, wanting me to give you undeserved credit for my very own idea. I certainly didn’t know you were going to make comments like this either.

So, I actually have a hero and villain school in my own original superhero works, and I did come up with a solution to this one. If you’re writing your own original stuff, please change this up, but if you’re writing fic I don’t mind if you nick it wholesale (as long as you tag me in it! I’d love to read it).

Y’know, for me, this was just background information, but now I kind of want to write a whole book focusing on it.

gingerly-writing: It took me a good 45 minutes to get tumblr to accept my answer to your damn ask, so you’ve just made that a waste of my time.

Me: Maybe. But, from below, you were not bettering the situation.

gingerly-writing: Also, feel free to simply not respond rudely to people’s posts, at all, ever, especially if you were the one who sent the ask in the first place. I didn’t need to know how shit my ideas are, thanks.

Me: Yeah...not really sure where you’re going with this. Are you saying your ideas were horrible because they were based on my idea and how I spread more around on tumblr? Or do you think I’m saying your ideas were horrible because you think I’m somehow saying, implying or thinking that? 

Either why, that comment of yours was not helpful for anyone. Yourself included.

gingerly-writing: Also, as a more general PSA, feel free not to send identical asks to multiple bloggers. 

Me: Not happening. As I can sent any ask at any time by my own free will. As is my right.

gingerly-writing: Seeing someone else answer the same ask really disincentivizes me to answer it, even if it’s in my queue: I worry about stepping on the other responder’s feet, 

Me: Well, to be fair, I can understand the sentiment there. Still, what you say next will lower that sentiment.

and also, it’s motherfuckin rude, you absolute assclown. 

Me: Childish name calling. So...how is it you’re any better with what you had said. What would you benefit from doing that other then venting out your anger. ...Which ironically enough I didn’t even do here and wouldn’t now just so I won’t sink to your level of rudeness. 

gingerly-writing: And if you do send multiple asks and get similar responses, maybe it’s simply because it’s a good fucking idea. If you get different answers, maybe it’s because we’re all different fucking people with awesome different ideas that I’m not sure you deserve.

Me: You know what, I’ll be upfront, and say that I should have not jumped the gun and assumed the worse and could’ve worded my comments better (or just replied privately about the whole matter), you, on the other hand, didn’t do much of anything to resolve the situation as best as you should’ve. In the end, you basically became me. But a little worse.

gingerly-writing

: feel free to block me on the way out

Me: Already did. I’m hoping you don’t treat other bloggers the way you had treated me. Especially if they were nicely bringing up stuff to your attention among other things. And especially, even, in the ‘ginning once they asked you something.

gingerly-writing: #I try to be nice on this site #but I have my limits #and now I'm in rage mode #the asks and the answers #rude #ungrateful

Me: As if you were better with your own fair share of rudeness that might be on the level of hackedmotionsensors’. 

hackedmotionsensors: THIS PERSON IS SO WEIRD!! All they ever do is send these bizarre questions about the DCEU being in MCU!

Me:  Actually, that's not ALL I do. I asked other questions too. And my qs aren't as weird as any one else's either, hacked. Best to not go by assumptions and call people weird for what they say or do. Be it in front of their faces or behind their backs. Also, don't like me or my qs? Then either block me or just blacklist my name.

See ya...never, I guess.

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

Here’s some context on what I was talking about on this post:

TumblrFrostbite: How would you want schools for villains' kids (for Marvel villains' kids, for DC villains' kids, etc) to be ran? And who would you want to run those schools?

gingerly-writing: This is one of those things that I’ve put way too much thought into after you sent this, because I love stuff like this. The question is, are the villains running this school for their kids, or is this something the heroes are putting on to try and rehabilitate the kids while their parents are in prison? I’ll assume the former, but the latter is also super interesting to me.

Disclaimer: this will have a strong DC bent because I have little to no interest in most Marvel villains, whereas I could yack on about DC villains for month. In fact, I might just stick to DC in its entirety because other than Loki (who would be the worst teacher ever, he would encourage so much shenanigans) most of the Marvel villains I know are Nazis or space monsters. Second disclaimer: I’ve watched a lot more animated DC movies and read a lot more fic than I ever have comics, soooooo these depictions might not be comic book accurate. Fanboys, please don’t come for me…but I also don’t really care that much tbh. I like the incarnations that I like. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Actual answer under the cut because this got hella long. Hope you like it!

Sponsor: Lex Luthor. Funds the school, shows up to speech day to give speeches and hand out prizes, gives the brightest and most stable kids scholarships to work at Lex Corp in the holidays. Absolutely 100% has his own ends, no one knows what they are. Chucks buckets of money at every problem. Likes to bring the school up at fancy soirees in front of Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen just to piss them off.

Headmaster: Deathstroke (or rather, Slade from Teen Titans). Has no idea how he wound up with this job, complains about the pay 24/7 even though it’s in the range of millions of dollars a term paid in untraceable cash from 50 different countries. Basically ends up like Gordon Ramsey: threatens to assassinate the teachers and parents all the time, has actually taken out some abusive parents, but is weirdly, gruffly nice to the younger kids. Teachers self-defence to all the non-powered kids and weapons to anyone who’s interested and has the discipline for it. Grudgingly tolerates old man jokes.

Deputy Headmistress: Talia al Ghul. Absolutely terrifies all the older kids, mothers the younger ones. In charge of who graduates and who doesn’t; will only let kids graduate if their villainy won’t critically endanger their own life. Sometimes shows up in the backs of random classes and lurks there for ‘assessments’; shows up in more than 50% of Deathstroke’s classes to harass him about his technique. Keeps a photo of Damien on her desk, refuses to acknowledge it’s there if someone asks about it.

Biology: Poison Ivy. Excellent teacher, surprises both herself and her students at how brilliant she is. Everyone wants to take biology with her even if they have no villainous interest in the subject. Litters her lectures with feminist rants, eco-warrior tirades and talks about LGBT+ rights, will gently but forcefully correct anyone who disagrees with her. Runs a vegetable outside the school and encourages the kids to get closer to nature. Just enough passing knowledge of memes to make her older students roll about with laughter: ‘Batman’s homophobic because he inconveniences me and I’m gay’. PDAs with her girlfriend in the corridors.

Women and gender studies: Harley Quinn Ivy’s girlfriend, part time teacher. Wanted to take up the psychology post, but after she seriously suggested sharing it with Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow) no one wanted to let her anywhere near it. Knows every meme. Gives great relationship advice, will kill anyone’s abusive boyfriend with no questions asked. Brings her hyenas to school in a ridiculously massive handbag. Has her own locker.

Thievery, sneaking around, Gotham safety: Catwoman. Definitely brings in her cats to act as therapy/comfort animals for the kids. Unofficial therapist; absolutely mothers anyone from Gotham, no exceptions. Brings the kids super expensive (stolen) jewellery to wear on prom night and for big dances, charges in secrets about their parents.

Business and Economics, with a side in mind control: Maxwell Lord (in the more business-orientated editions). Keeps to himself, is one of those teachers who doesn’t actually seem to like kids. Always wears a freshly pressed suit. Bit of an asshole. Selina tripped him down the stairs once.

Magic: supposedly taught by Felix Faust, but Klarion enrolled as a student just to show up in his lectures and argue. Every. Single. Point. Magic classes have turned into a magical war several times. They can only get along when someone else turns up claiming magic isn’t real. Faust has a lecture prepared for the non-believers, Klarion has a fireball. Circe often shows up in these classes, ‘borrows’ all the female students for private lessons and turns all the boys into pigs. Pig-Klarion does not appreciate this.

Physics and advanced thermodynamics: Killer Frost. Gets on really well with the Gotham City Sirens; they have cocktail parties in the staff lounge every second Thursday. Is paid by other villains kidnapping Firestorm so she can feed. Absolutely has favourite students and students she hates with a passion; has been known to freeze some students to their chairs in lieu of detention.

Other random villains that show up from time to time: - Flash’s Rogues Gallery. Created the infamous ‘Rogues week’ at the end of the year where every single one of them shows up and helps the students wreak absolute chaos across the school. Can never be stopped from showing up and starting this. Captain Cold comes grudgingly, sits in Slade’s office and has a drink with him; the rest of the Rogues join in with the chaos a bit too enthusiastically. Best week for the seniors. The younger rogues would totally be students and help to smuggle the older ones in for Rogues week.

- Black Manta: shows up sometimes, teaches a few lectures, leaves. Always on super random topics, often tangentially related to his latest evil scheme. The students have a betting pool that reawakens after each visit on how his talk will relate to his next scheme. Literally no one understands why he shows up. Doesn’t get paid, doesn’t seem to enjoy it. ?????? Has great on-land fashion sense though. A lot of the older students have lowkey crushes on him

- Cheetah takes advanced genetics and many other complex of aspects of science. Only shows up to teach special classes for the seniors. High fives Ivy in the corridors.

- Deadshot. Sometimes shows up and interrupts Deathstroke’s guns lessons (poor guy can never teach a lesson in peace), always gets chased out of the school. Gets teary eyed over the young female students kicking ass. Doesn’t seem to do anything useful but somehow gets paid a salary. Sleeps in the gym when he’s on the run from Amanda Wakker/Batman.

- Hugo Strange keeps showing up in disguises and trying to get the psychology job. Last time it was just a fake moustache. What is he even hoping to achieve.

- Merlyn shows up when he’s bored to host archery competitions on the front lawn. Mostly does this when Oliver Queen is in town. Keeps saying he’s going to pick a protégé out of the best archers and never does because the Arrow Clan kids annoy him so much he’s wound up thinking he hates kids. Actually loves kids, pretends to be snooty and above them though. 100% has to prove he’s still the best archer at every competition, even the one for 12 year olds.

TumblrFrostbite: If the super villain academy children, by the time they hit twenty, had to do some VERY impressive villainous in order to graduate, what type of villainous stuff would you have the rookies villains do to not only graduate, but also to be considered as full fledged villains?

gingerly-writing: So, I actually have a hero and villain school in my own original superhero works, and I did come up with a solution to this one. If you’re writing your own original stuff, please change this up, but if you’re writing fic I don’t mind if you nick it wholesale (as long as you tag me in it! I’d love to read it).

My thought was: all villains are going to be different, with different strengths and gifts. Sending them all to, I don’t know, infiltrate an island or fight Black Canary (which no one would win, let’s be honest) doesn’t seem fair on those it doesn’t suit. I was really struggling to come up with something that could work for everyone that didn’t force them to work in a team, because, well…villainous teams never work so well. Too many egos and whatnot.

My solution was: have the kids pick their own challenges. Make it their end of final year project. They submit a fully researched plan, all the way from the developmental stages to the final polished article. Plans like ‘killing Batman’ or ‘blowing up the planet’ are swiftly vetoed, but as long as they’re convincing enough the plan can get as elaborate and dangerous as they like. Half the marks come from the plan itself, and half for execution. Sometimes, my particularly vindictive kiddos make their plan to screw over their nemesis’ plan; I particularly enjoy when their plans are both to screw over each others’ plans. That gets entertaining.

They’re assigned a teacher whose knowledge base best fits with the plan the kid wants to execute, and they submit and resubmit and re-resubmit it to improve and refine their scheme until it’s as perfect as it’s going to get. Then, with no further outside help, they have to execute it.

This method lets you titivate the grand finale to best suit your plot needs. Your character has a serious nemesis? Pitch them against each other. Parental grudge? Make their aim to foil their parent’s plans. Hero that they hate? Plan to ruin their day. Plus, you can shove in bureaucratic nightmares and whatever other problems you can dream up (sabotage, indecision, dreams too grand to execute) into the planning stages.

I’m not sure you could do anything in a school situation to make the outside world consider them ‘real villains’: that would take time, money, and a body count, all things a school probably can’t afford to have on their books, villainous or not. But a huge, large-scale, dramatic graduating plan probably wouldn’t hurt any young villain’s rep!

Y’know, for me, this was just background information, but now I kind of want to write a whole book focusing on it. xx