#What is Computer Accounting?

[ipasantosh]

Diploma in Taxation 

[icewindandboringhorror]

Little bright colored outfit with a fun vest ~

(shoes from ebay like 10 years ago. everything else is thrifted)

[spacetimeaccordionfolder]

A Moment of Contented Quiet

a malevolent Part 44 fanfiction, inspired by the idea of John humming to Arthur during day 1 of being in the hovel.

This is long. It's 4,625 words. (good lord)

I haven't written down fanfic in literal years. And then I write a 4 and a half thousand word fanfiction over the course of 3 days.

I don't know what all to say here. Enjoy?

“THIS … WILL BE LOUD”

John braced for something, some cacophony, a bang, something, but only heard a soft ringing followed by silence.

…Did it-

Arthur gasped for breath, cutting off John’s question, and then screamed.

Arthur! He was alive! Alive, awake, in pain. 

“MY KING!” 

Arthur, you’re alive! Relief, worry, and so many more emotions welled up. Arthur’s eyelids flicked open and closed, agony in his screams. John could faintly make out the Witch- no her body, she was gone, body bitten and under Yorick’s control- looming over them.

“What…” Arthur broke off into another scream, as he tried to move.

Arthur! Focus, please. Stay with me. Tell me what’s wrong. What can I do? John moved his hand, trying to take hold of Arthur’s, moving slowly - it was so hard not to grab his hand, to hold him and not let go - trying to avoid the stab wounds and the stitches that held them, Arthur’s torso, his heart and his life, together.

Arthur turned his head, as though trying to see where he was. The movement made the green flames of Yorick’s eyes dance. “Witch…” John knew those sounds, he couldn’t get a full breath in, “she…” 

It’s going to be okay! Please believe me. Arthur was alive, he wasn’t alone, they would be okay. In pain, but it would pass. 

“HE FADES AGAIN, MY KING”

What? No, she… No, the talisman was supposed to work! She… Had she done something different? No, Yorick would know. No. No, no, no, no, NO!

Arthur breathed in, and in, and in, and couldn’t get enough air.

It’ll be okay, John was unable to take his hand, it was too far, twitching, writhing, not without touching Arthur’s stomach, not with the muscles in his left shoulder and upper arm spasming as they were. I’m here. I- I’ll take care of you. He didn’t know how; he couldn’t even touch Arthur’s hand, but he would find a way. 

It’ll be okay. Arthur’s writhing slowed a little. Their vision blurred more, as Arthur rolled his head towards their right, away from Yorick and the body he controlled.

It’ll be fine. Please. Please, listen and believe me. I will not let you drown, let you go. It will be okay. I am here, my friend. 

Please don’t leave me alone again.

Arthur faded. Their eyes closed, leaving John in darkness.

…Arthur?

“HE IS UNCONSCIOUS, LIKELY FROM THE PAIN.” John heard clumsy shuffling towards their left. 

I thought you said he would be healed. Perhaps the accusatory tone was unfair- it did dip back into worry by the end of the sentence.

“I SAID HE WOULD BE REVIVED AS NORMAL.” More shuffling, now with some clattering. Was he going through their bag? “THE NORMAL REACTION FOR HUMANS, I BELIEVE, TO WAKING UP WITH STITCHES FROM NOT YET HEALED STAB WOUNDS, IS SCREAMING.”

Right, you… and that – what are you doing? Arthur’s head is facing the other way, I can’t-

“I AM RETURNING THE SHAVING KIT TO THE BAG AND LOOKING FOR A CLOTH.” Something clinking, fabric moving, more shuffling.

A cloth? John couldn’t see, but he could move his hand a little and- what was that? He could feel something small on this slab beneath the glove- god, he hated this slab, he wanted to not be here in this place of death and pain- it was moving, round, yet oblong like-

Yorick, there are still maggots on the slab! Panic began welling up again- not that it really ever stopped- overtaking worry. How close were they to Arthur? To his wounds? He moved his hand, trying to wipe them away, still unable to see how many or if he was close to them at all. Yorick had removed them, hadn’t he? Then again, why should he trust this being? It was from the Dark Word, a place of pain and suffering, and yes Yorick had helped him lie and save Arthur, but could he believe Yorick when they were still in this labyrinth of Darkness and maggots and pain and Yorick held her body and-

There was a brushing sound nearby. John’s hand stilled as Yorick brushed away the maggots, careful to not touch John’s hand. 

“SOME MUST HAVE FALLEN WHEN I REMOVED THEM.” Yorick shuffled around the slab slowly, pausing every so often, before eventually stopping back near John’s hand. “THAT IS ALL OF THEM NOW.” 

John let out a breath. Thank you, Yorick. 

“OF COURSE!”

…Was that why you were looking for a cloth? John didn’t like the silence that lingered between questions and answers. In that silence, he could hear Arthur’s breathing, not quite right, not like at the hospital, now pained even though not conscious. Every so often accompanied by a drip, possibly water somewhere, or, considering the closeness, likely Arthur’s blood dripping off the slab. That seemed to have stopped now, or at least slowed. More importantly, he couldn’t see, and he needed to know what was going on. Were there more things that could hurt them- hurt Arthur? What investigator could he be if he didn’t ask questions? Arthur couldn’t ask them at the moment, so he would. He’ll be fine. It’ll be okay.

“NO. I WAS LOOKING FOR A RAG TO WIPE AWAY THE BLOOD AND DIRT NEAR THE WOUNDS. THE WITCH HAS SOME RAGS HERE, BUT THEY ARE ALL DIRTY. HER HANDS DID NOT ALWAYS GRIP BOTTLES WELL, AND SOMETIMES THINGS FELL.”

They gripped the gun well enough.

“INDEED, THERE IS A PILE OF BROKEN BOTTLES AT THE BACK OF THE DESK. SHE KEPT SOME MORE CLEAN RAGS IN HER CHAMBERS.”

An option then. An invitation to ask for more information. He remembered the hospital, doctors and nurses looking at the stab Kellin had left, cleaning the wound with disinfectant. How … how would you clean the wounds? She doesn’t strike me as someone to have disinfectants just sitting around, considering all the worms and rot.

“THERE IS WATER THAT CAN BE BOILED.” Yorick moved around again, moving the Witch’s feet heavily, this time towards the door to the chambers.

I don’t recall seeing a way to do that. Annoyance was replacing worry as the main emotion John felt. He’s trying to help. Remember Arthur’s patience with you.

“YOU WERE LOOKING QUICKLY, MY KING, AND THERE ARE BENEFITS TO HAVING THE MEMORIES OF THE PERSON WHO’S HOVEL YOU ARE IN.”

Fuck patience. God, is he annoying. ‘I possess much knowledge but only if you ask’ No way I was this bad to begin with, whatever he says. And there was that promise they’d made.

Fine. That- John forced himself to take a breath- not that he actually had lungs to move air through- make the words not as sharp- That would be a good idea. It would leave them alone while Yorick worked on that. Alone on the cold slab where Arthur died but came back. But it would be a good idea. And he had promised he would take care of Arthur. So he would.

Yorick hadn’t started moving. Did he need more prompting? Was he reconsidering the idea now that John agreed? Did… did he want something? Yorick, is there something else? I agree, we should make sure the area around the wounds is clean, especially before Arthur wakes up. Is there… something you need to do that?

“NO, MY KING. I KNOW WHAT WE NEED AND WHERE TO LOCATE IT. BUT,” Yorick paused. John felt anticipation and irritation grow. God damn it, get to the point! “DO YOU WISH TO REMAIN THERE WHILE I DO?”

Wh-? Where else would I be? It’s not like Arthur could move right now, and John was kind of attached to him, in more ways than one.

“THE WITCH’S BED IS AN OPTION.”

What.

“IT WOULD BE MORE COMFORTABLE THAN THE SLAB. AND LESS COVERED IN BLOOD.”

Both of those things were, unfortunately, true. But, her bed? Yorick gave John a moment to think. He didn’t want to be on the slab for longer than he had to - Arthur had died here, and yes he was breathing now, but it still hurt. It was a place of death, where the Witch had twisted his words around and hurt Arthur to “free” John, not listening to him as he screamed for her to stop. He’d been helpless here. But the bed- it was the Witch’s. He didn’t want to have Arthur near her anymore than he already was; he could be hurt by something. How she’d twisted his words like the roots of a tree, it almost felt like she could still rot the two from the inside out beyond death. Logically, that wasn’t right. It was a bed. A bed made of roots and hay and it would be better than this stone where who knows how many had died before. 

…How would we get there? John knew the answer before Yorick said it. He just didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to think of what would happen. It would be fine. It’ll be okay. I promised you that much.

“I CAN CARRY YOU TWO.” A shuffling, heavy steps as Yorick moved closer again. I do not want her touching us.

Be careful. Arthur’s injuries-

“I AM AWARE, MY KING. HE WILL BE ALRIGHT.” More steps. Yorick was to his right now, in the direction Arthur’s head was pointing.

… and, could you… Only touch fabric. Not his skin. I… Just only touch his clothes. 

“OF COURSE, MY KING. I UNDERSTAND.” And Yorick probably did, considering he knew whatever “many things” meant. A pause, and then movement of fabric. A shifting of weight. As Yorick lifted them up- don’t think about who’s arms those are don’t think about who’s body this was don’t think about what happened last time these hands were close to him- a whine began.

It was a slow, agonizing walk through the main area to the Witch’s bed. Arthur wasn’t quite awake but not quite asleep either, sounds of distress and pain that John could not stop. He explained, Don’t worry, She’s dead, Yorick bit her - like how he controls the head remember?- he’s just moving us a bit, it’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll be okay, but he wasn’t sure Arthur entirely heard him. Yorick only spoke to confirm he now controlled the Witch’s body, and then seemed to focus on walking slowly, not jostling those he carried, on keeping the Witch’s hands away from Arthur’s skin. John wasn’t quite sure how Yorick didn’t trip on any of the roots that lined the floor; perhaps the Witch’s muscle memory helped. John’s hand hung down towards the ground. Bringing it towards Arthur risked bumping his stomach or the hand Yorick had under that shoulder, so he let it hang, tapping his fingers to his thumb in order. Don’t think about whose body this is. Just focus on talking to Arthur. He will be alright. He has to be alright. It will be okay.

Finally, Yorick stopped. John’s fingers touched something, though the texture was muted through the gloves.

“WE ARE NOW AT THE BED.” The small amount of pressure at his fingertips grew as Yorick set them down, as John moved his hand, trying to see what he could feel out beneath the glove- the hay is thick enough that it’ll actually be more comfortable than the slab- what he could know without his eyes. 

Arthur let out a pained gasp as Yorick set him down, half asked questions choked out between breaths. John had reassurances at the ready, tamping down the panic that arose at the blurred sight of the Witch’s body standing over them.

“MY KING, SHALL I-” 

Yes, yes, Yorick, go! Heavy footfalls followed Yorick, first to somewhere on the other side of the room, then in the direction of the door, then further away. It was just John and Arthur, who breathed slower, nearer to unconsciousness again.

Just keep breathing Arthur, please keep breathing don't stop I can’t take that feeling of stillness and being alone again, It’ll be okay. You’re hurt, but we’re going to pull through. Yorick sewed up the injuries. yes it’s plural now please don’t ask what happened yet It’ll… It’ll be fine.

It was quiet. Just the slightest noise of Arthur, pain in his breaths. John wasn’t alone, yet he was. 

In the hospital, it hadn’t been quiet. He’d been able to hear Arthur’s breathing grow stronger, chatter in the hallway, carts rolling, and, of course,

“Good morning, John!” 

A soft patting of shoes. “It’s lovely out today. I would hope to get out for a picnic, but I’m working till 6.” some movement nearby? What was she doing now? “Not that I’m complaining, I’d rather work late than not work at all! And besides, how else would I meet lovely folks like you?” 

There was a smile in her voice, he decided. Lovely? That wasn’t a word he thought people would use to describe him, if she knew. He held this man’s eyes. He was something of the Dark World. Something he couldn’t remember, but knew was important. 

“Perhaps I’ll take my lunch outside today. Stand in the parking lot with my turkey and swiss sandwich.” It was a Tuesday, then. “That is better than getting crumbs all over the breakroom. And the smells of the breakroom too!” a conspiratorial whisper “Now you didn’t hear it from me, but…” she talked about how someone had eaten something in there that made the whole place smell slightly off all of yesterday. Petty gossip, foolish talk, but he found himself being drawn in. It wasn’t so dark when someone talked to you. He’d found himself waiting for those words. “Good morning, John” or “Good evening, John,” “Hello, John! How has your day been?” “If you don’t mind me, Mr. Doe, I’m going to move your arm a bit,” Just some words, but they started to mean so much to him. 

It apparently was policy to talk to coma patients. It helped their brains, he’d heard. She had just been doing her job, but it meant so much in the darkness of the hospital. No one could hear him, yet someone talked to him, without expecting an answer. He had named himself from that kindness. John Doe.

So, John talked.

He talked about how it had been sunny that morning in New York, yet pouring when they got to England late at night. How it really was amazing all the things they had done that day. He talked about how interesting the idea of movies sounded, how they should go, make that one of the first things they do when they get back to their time. Not if, when. He would describe everything, and, oh they could invite Noel, too! That would be nice. They’d have to leave Yorick somewhere, but John was sure Yorick wouldn’t mind. He talked about how he wanted to find that book or story that Arthur had told Percival on the train, how it would be nice to actually read that.

John paused- mid sentence about the idea of a separate library card for him- when he heard Yorick’s heavy steps again. Something was set on the nightstand with a sloshing sound- that would be whatever held the water- and something small as well with a clink- a glass jar, perhaps. 

That’s the water, then? What was the second noise? Not being able to see was getting rather frustrating. 

“A SALVE FOR PAIN.” More movement that John could hear but not see. A small splash and water running. He’s wet and wrung out a cloth.

The Witch had something to relieve pain? Odd, considering what she did to people. Considering the Prince’s body, filled with insects and still asking for help- how long had he been like that, how long had it taken before his body was no longer his, living yet dead, food for things squirming inside him. Considering what she had done to Arthur, his friend, part of him.

“THE SALVE WAS FOR HERSELF OR FOR HER CHILDREN. HER BODY DID NOT ALWAYS WORK WELL.” 

Well, I suppose having your body half eaten by worms and then given life again could cause some problems. John had no sympathy for her. Not after what had happened. She would not hold space in his heart. God, Arthur. 

John couldn’t feel the rest of Arthur’s body. He didn’t feel Yorick checking the stitches- careful as he was, oddly, to only touch Arthur’s skin with the cloth, to keep the Witch’s hands off him- or applying the salve.

Arthur felt it, though. He startled, screamed, breathed in gasps. 

Arthur! It’s okay it’s okay. Arthur had opened his eyes, tilted his head towards the ceiling, then back towards his stomach, where John could barely see the Witch’s, no, Yorick’s hands lifting away. He’d wrapped those hands in some cloth, John thought, although it was hard to see if those were actually gloves or just a wrap of some kind.

“What’s… Who-” Arthur cut off, a noise through gritted teeth, in pain, pain, pain.

It’s Yorick, controlling the Witch’s body, remember? It’s alright-

“What! He-”

“IT IS ME, MASTER! I BIT HER BODY WITH MY TOOTH AND CONTROL IT!” Yorick sounded proud of himself. “I FOUND A SALVE FOR YOUR WOUNDS, BUT YOU AWOKE IN APPLYING IT.”

“Wo-Wounds?” Gasps and half-choked out words and almost screams and groans and panic

Yorick, just move away! “Move away” was one of the nicer options that John had been thinking of, needed to say to remove one more dangerous thing from near Arthur, to stop the sight of the Witch and her body, head now with a hole in it, a sight Arthur could not see, but he could, a sight he would not describe to Arthur, not unless he asked but even then, he would not want to. The shape left their field of vision, thumping steps followed as Yorick moved towards the wall. Possibly towards the door? John could not care at the moment, not with Arthur in pain and screaming, and breathing in and in and in and still not getting a full breath.

Just start talking again. It’s okay… we’ll be okay. You’ll pull through, like in Larson’s mines, remember? That… That memory also hurt. Part of the lies he had told Arthur as part of his deal with Kayne. So, no, not like that memory. Like something else. Like… Like in the hospital in Harper’s Hill? We were alright then. He’d been unconscious for a month then. God, John did not want to be stuck in these caverns for a month. We will be alright. Please believe me. This too shall pass. His breath still didn’t sound right. 

I know, I know it hurts, but please just focus, just stay with me, okay? Poems, Arthur liked poems. The only one John could think of at the moment was the one he’d recited to Arthur in Larson’s estate. Also not a memory he wanted to bring up, considering their current state. John’s voice sounded shook. That wasn’t entirely fair, he thought. He didn’t even have lungs. Not an actual mechanism of speech, just a voice in a man’s head, an elder god with his soul attached to a mortal, yet his voice still shook, worry inherent in every breath he took, breath that also wasn’t coming right. 

He needed to breathe. Just needed to…

“I really need to just breathe.” 

Oh.

“I am, I am having a tough time with all of this right now. I really need to just breathe.” 

Words from so long ago, from those first moments. 

Arthur, it seems to me that you need to take a moment and compose yourself. 

He was trying.

Just put your fingers on the keys. Play something that comes to mind, anything.

Anything?

Taking a breath, John began to hum.

hmm Hmmm hmm hmm hmmmm

It was the song Arthur had played then, when he had been spiraling after waking up blind with a voice in his head and a dead body on the floor.

hmm Hmmm hmm hmm hmmmm

The one he’d played in that music store in Harper’s hill, where John had first heard its title, and her name. 

hmm HMmm hmm hmm hmmm hmm hmmm

The one Arthur had played in Larson’s estate, that he had thought called John back, and perhaps it did, before they’d fallen into the mines.

John’s voice slightly broke on some of the notes. Not polished, going off his memory of the song. He tried to hum mainly the melody, but in the silence after the first… section?- he didn’t know what the right terms were, something he should get Arthur to talk about later- he tried to add in the lower notes as well- his hand had already started tapping them out on the hay, muscle memory taking over- till the melody began again. It repeated the first part but then changed, went higher instead of lower.

hmm HMm Hm hm HmmM that wasn’t right hmhmHM too fast HmHM- the note sounded as confident as he felt about it, thin and barely coming out. He stopped.

“hm”

John breathed in quickly at Arthur’s hum. His version hadn’t sounded much louder than John’s, but it still sounded better somehow. He’d gotten quieter; John had thought he was possibly falling back asleep, eyes barely open.

Arthur?

“Hm hmm” That was the rest of that part of the melody. They sat for a few seconds breathing quietly.

“John?” Arthur’s voice broke in the middle of the word. 

I’m here. Do you want me to stop? He felt a little… embarrassed, he supposed. He wasn’t the musician of the two. And the meaning behind that song…

“No, I… keep going.”

John began the melody again. Arthur joined, humming the melody, or the lower notes at different times, until they reached the end of the song.

“...there’s another part I was thinking about writing. It’d work with your voice nicely. I’ll have to… to do that.” Arthur sounded worn out, his voice tired and woozy. 

You… you were going to write another part to Faroe’s song? It’d go with my voice? After all I have said and done and you would let me do that?

Arthur gave a hum in response. There was some musical quality to it, like he had hummed one of the notes to that part.

They lapsed into silence again. 

There were unasked questions in the air, unsaid things John had promised he would say. Did he say everything that had happened since the rapier in the maze, did he wait for Arthur to ask, did he just start talking again about the weather and other things that weren’t blood and knives and maggots? Something, something needed to break the silence that felt like cold stone and the feeling of being alone in a body that housed two.

I… Their eyes had closed. Arthur?

“..’m awake.” Words slurred, Arthur opened his eyes again, rolled his head to their left.

John laughed slightly at that, You sure? You might need some sleep.

“No, no, I’ll be fine. I-” A shout. Arthur had shifted- brushed his stomach maybe or tried to sit up, John couldn’t see- and the pain had begun again. 

Arthur! It’s okay, don’t- just- it’ll pass! John couldn’t do more than talk, than listen to Arthur. You were hurt, but it’ll be okay, the pain will pass. A breath in. A breath out. Another breath in.

Arthur breathed slowly out, through clenched teeth. “...what happened?”

John paused. Took a breath of his own. What do you remember?

“I…” Arthur started tapping his hand on the hay. “... she stabbed me. The Witch.” The tapping - there was a rhythm to it, John realized, it’s her song- paused, then continued “We got her talisman and she found us… I don’t…” the tapping stopped. “... not much after that. Pain… you talking… did you… No, that can’t be right.” the last sentence became a mumble.

What? What was it? He heard me.

“Did you,” Arthur cleared his throat, “did you say that Yorick was controlling the Witch? Something about biting? ...and injuries and …a salve?” 

… yes, I did say that. She’s dead now. He bit her body. So much was unsaid in those words.

“I think I remember you saying that?” Arthur had started tapping the melody of Faroe’s Song again. “... I missed a lot while I was out, didn’t I?” He moved, did something, and the pain must have gotten worse. Arthur whined and squeezed his eyes closed.

Careful! Stop getting yourself more hurt! It was louder than John meant it to be. 

“...doin’ my best.” His words were slurred again. John sighed, then spoke quietly.

Arthur, I promise I’ll tell you everything that happened. I promise. It will not be like after the King. Like with Kayne. But… right now… do you think you should get some rest first? You’re injured really badly, and I… it might be a good idea to sleep first.

Arthur thought about it. That, or he’s trying to stay awake. “... not the worst idea. You’ll tell me everything later?” 

Yorick will hold me to that, I think. John tried for a laugh, something that would cover how the question hurt, the reminder of the lie, the supposed ‘fix,’ the colossally huge, very human fuck up he’d made.

Arthur hummed again. “...not sure I can sleep at the moment… not awake for the full story, though,” He yawned slightly, eyelids getting lower. “...could you distract me?”

I… yes, I can do that. John could talk, he could bring up nonsense things he had said earlier- like the idea of his own library card which was silly, really, why would an elder god need a library card- but that didn’t feel right for the moment. His hand, with muscle memory that wasn’t his, pressed into the hay. Pinkie, middle, thumb, middle, pinkie. A pause. Again, pinkie, middle, thumb, middle pinkie. The notes to a song. A lullaby.

hmHMhmmhm Hmmm

It was a slow melody. Melancholic, yet peaceful. John’s hand played the lower notes into the hay as he hummed.

hmHMhmmhm Hmmm

He remembered first hearing it while walking up all those stairs in the dreamlands, from the music box, then from Kayne on the piano. Arthur signed, started to relax into the bed.

hmHMhmmhm Hmmm

Arthur told him he’d written it for Faroe. Called it “their song.” He’d been alright with John humming Faroe’s Song, so John thought this was alright as well. Probably. Arthur wasn’t protesting, and… He was tapping out the melody into the hay.

hmHMhmmhm Hmmmm 

It went a bit lower there, he remembered. 

“hmhmHmhmHm.” Oh! Arthur hummed the low notes, the ones John’s hand played silently. John paused, thought about reminding Arthur he was supposed to be resting, but then continued. Music was, in part, how his friend rested.

hmHmhmmhm Hmmm “hmMmHMmmM”

hmHmHMMhm Hmm “hmMmHMmmm” John thought Arthur had the easy part right now. Which was fair considering the shape his stomach was in.

hmHMhmmhm Hmmm “hmMmHmmmMm …Mm ..hmhmmHmmhm” Arthur’s hums were a bit slower, running out of air before finishing. Their eyes were almost closed now, and John couldn’t hear Arthur tapping out the melody anymore.

hmHmhmmhm Hmmm “hmMmmMmm” the notes glided together now.

hmHmhmmhm Hmmm “mm”

hmHmhmmhm Hmmm Arthur merely breathed deeply this time, eyes closed.

hmHmhmmhm Hmmmm There was the lower note again. John’s hand still pressed into the hay, still played the lower notes, but he did his best to keep it the smallest movement.

hmmHmmhmhm Hmm

hmmHmmhmhm Hmm

hmmHmmhmhm Hmm

hmmHmmhmhm Hmmmm

Arthur breathed softly. 

John felt almost a smile.

Sleep, Arthur. A whisper, a hope. 

A moment of contented quiet.

[seasideoranges]

idk if it’s just me but the whole “which atla kid in the gaang is the most mature” debates can get redundant and kind of exhausting at times. they’re kids. they’re multifaceted characters. they’re mature in some departments and immature in others. they have their strengths and weaknesses. also they’re kids lol.

[kelocitta]

"But if we dont get reblogs and likes than why bother creating at all" Did you never doodle in your notebook in class. Did you never have a notebook of cringe doodles you never wanted people to see but got filled anyway. Was this never something you did because it was a tool of personal comfort.

[leupagus]

Working title is "Aziraphale is going to get a good grade in sex, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve"

"So!" Aziraphale said, plopping himself down in the chair opposite. "Urophilia."

Crowley glowered at him from behind the safety of his third-best sunglasses and his mug.* He hadn't slept last night — he rarely wanted to, these days — yet it was somehow still too early for this. "No," he attempted.

"I know we neither of us go in for the more, er, granular human bodily functions," said Aziraphale, without even the slightest hint of listening. Crowley took a certain amount of comfort in the fact that he still found this annoying as — well, his former employer's residence. He'd worried, in a vague sort of way, that if Aziraphale came back and they worked things out, became a proper us, that he'd start thinking everything Aziraphale did was wonderful. But even true love had its limits, thank — well, his other former employer's residence. "Did I ever tell you, I tried defecating once? Terribly awkward business, I had to make an anus and everything. But Cicero was very obliging in teaching me about the stick."**

Conversations with Aziraphale tended to fall into one of three categories. Either he was humming away in his default cheeriness, in which case he'd burble happily along with whatever Crowley said for hours on end; or he was in a pet about something, in which case he'd be drier than the desert outside Eden and Crowley'd be lucky to escape without injury to his pride or person. Or he was like this, in which case Crowley's participation was purely decorative.

Still, they were getting some stares. Nina hadn't started tutting yet, but she would do soon. "I'm not pissing on you," he said, firm. "And vice versa."

"Oh, all right," Aziraphale huffed, pulling out his spectacles and wrapping the temple tips fussily around his ears. He peered down at the magazine he'd apparently brought with him; even from here, Crowley could see some illustrations. They were… illustrative.

"What," he said with the conviction that he would regret it, "Is that?"

"It's 'Kinks and Fetishes: An A to Z Guide,'" Aziraphale said, handing it over with all the glee of a dog showing off a rotted tennis ball it had found in the back garden. "I've been doing more research, you see. Apparently, there's all sorts of sex we could be getting up to. I truly had no idea there were so many—" he waved his other hand around vaguely. "Configurations."

"Does Glamour have a print edition anymore?" Crowley asked, thumbing through the pages. There were a lot of illustrations.

"Not as such," Aziraphale admitted. "But Muriel found it for me on the World Wide Web—"

"Don't call it that," Crowley sighed.

"—and you know how I dislike reading off of those… screens," he continued, making a moue of distaste. "So I made my own proof copy, as it were."

Under "Tentacles," there was a stern reminder that you shouldn't have sex with octopuses.*** "Angel," he started, then paused. "Vicarphilia?"

"I thought it was something to do with priests and things, but apparently not," Aziraphale said, leaning over the table to point out the next one. "What about whipping?"

"No fetishes that I could've done professionally," Crowley decided firmly, shutting the magazine. He waved it away, out to the Tadfield Library where Anathama would probably find it and laugh for a week, then try at least a half-dozen of them out on poor Newt.

* Nina had set one aside for him after a while, since he didn't mind the permanent stains that had developed along the inside. "Pretty sure those are scorchmarks, actually," she'd complained. "On the outside. What did you do to it?"

** Roman public toilets were aptly named — men would gather to have a bowel movement and a chat, cleaning themselves off with a sponge on the end of a length of wood. Hence the phrase, "Getting the wrong end of the stick," something decidedly less pleasant when taken out of its metaphor.

*** Accompanied by a picture of a young woman doing exactly that.

[apologetic-artist]

Guyss.. *sniffle*.. he's so eepy I love him smmm 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 (still not done but oughhhhh)

Kissing him rn WHAT WHO SAID THAT?!?!

[octan-computer]

Octan-Computer will probably be removed.

Octan-Computer will probably be removed.

I'll be direct, I think I'll start from scratch, I have two accounts and I think Octan-Computer is getting boring for everyone, I think no one is interested in the lore, activity is going down, and the story is becoming complex. I find it increasingly difficult to attract attention. Even this post probably isn't as viewed as the entire blog either. For me, this blog is no longer worth it.

And this will probably be NOT the LAST post.

Or I'll probably just stop using it.

[wackywatchdotcom]

i will say im not super invested in the idea of the show giving us too much information on c&a. like itll be super cool if we find out about it! and im sure itll be relevant information if we do but i think the information we get is going to be not super indepth, because im not sure itd match the tone of the show? its less about mystery and like The Lore and more about the characters and examining how different characters respond and have been responding to the environment set up by the show

(it WOULD be fun to learn more details about c&a and i AM curious i just dont think itd actually enhance much abt the show itself, and as such, i dont think its super important writing wise for the audience to learn about it either)

that SAID i do ascribe to the idea that ALL of the cast members worked for c&a before the ended up in the circus, no exceptions. i dont really know how say gangle or zooble wouldve ended up there, but i feel like they all ended up there one way or another. and i think most of the cast doesnt talk about their life in the real world bc its gone and theres no reason to dredge it up (or theyve forgotten it or most aspects of it), but it does make it fascinating that not even pomni, who has the least reason to avoid these topics at least early on, broached the subject of what in the WORLD is c&a UP to. it literally is never brought up ever as of ep 4. which makes me think the company was probably always super shady in some way to the pt that its employees were kinda desensitized to the idea that its c&as fault that horrible things happen

[badolmen]

I don’t know what young person with their own laptop/computer/whatever device for the first time needs to hear this but:

Get yourself a goddamn password notebook. Label the pages alphabetically. Add your important log-in information, passwords, etc. Put the notebook in your underwear drawer and sleep easy knowing that if your device is stolen, trashed, or bricked, you will not spend three hours manually recreating new passwords or accounts.

This has been a PSA.

[penskecar]

maybe im in a bubble on tumblr but i just saw a marco bezzecchi fan account bitching at people in a tiktok comment section on a post about marc marquez ???

[llitchilitchi]

something i didnt anticipate when i started dabbling into ancient history rpf on tumblr dot com was that one of the top experts in the field will get to see my sleep-deprived caffeine-driven dogshit fujoshi takes

[awesomefringey]

.

[raddestrose]

I AM KEEPING TO MY WORD

I have episode two up on my computer RIGHT NOW

lets goooooook

The english, wasn’t expecting it, was confused gor like ten seconds until i realized

Oh, gambling schemes, how interesting

HEY AINT THAT GIRL FAMILIAR

MYSTERY KID

WHATS BRO DOIN

whats his power?

Ultimate wingmanning i guess

his neck tattoo looks cool (is that a tattoo? if its his traumatic backstory im going to look so mean)

Bros smoking a pipe like from the days of old

What secret code do those two have

WAAAIT, he was s1’s blond’s brother? ooouhhhhhh, i have such a bad memory i guess

Seecret tunnel secret tunnel

Oh shit cool table

OH DANG A GUN

FIFTY MIL

AHHHHHH

this is so tense

Bro is NOT scared

he has to chalant like right now, he is TOO CALM for this situation

This old man is gonna die

YEAHHHHH GET HIIIM LIU CIAO GET HIIIIMMMMMM

SO HES GOT SUPER HEARING

or is he just like anime levels of genius and has like trained himself to gear everything

OH SHOOT

HE SAID CHENG

I was kind of so like locked in i forgot he said Cheng

OH MY GOD WE HAVEN’T EVEN GOTTEN TO THE OPENING

this opening hurts but its so good

CAT HAT YEAHHHHHHHH

I actually like NEED Qiao Ling’s outfit

Yeahh, every guys got his secrets

WOULNDT YOU KNOW LU GUANG?? 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨

oh, you know he isn’t hiding anything big maybe definitely totally not the catalyst for this entire season definitely NOT that 

NOOOONOOOOO NOT A FLASHBACK TO A PREVIOUS TIMELINE

AHHHHHHHHH

SOMETHING CHANGED

shit, bros literally the meme

not Lu Guang absolutely ear to ear, smiling at a drumstick 

WHAT IS SHE HIDING

WHAT

Qiao Ling what do you have to hide? 

WHAT IS GOING ON

XIAOSHI PRLEASE LISTEN TO HER

YOU WILL DIE BRO

AND I DONT WANT TO SEE THAT AGAIN

Who?

GIIRL YOUVE BEEN SITTING ON THIS FOR YEARS

Tell Cheng Xiaoshi the truth challenge level: IMPOSSIBLE APPARENTLY

they don’t tell my boy a damn thing 

DAAAAANG YOU DIDNT HAVE TO DO LITTLE XIAOSHI LIKE THAT

You don’t even have a dad you could’ve just made one up is LOOOOW

Whys he in the wat- VEIN THE HELL YOU DOIN HERE

This ending song HIITS

shoot post credit scene

VEIIIN LEAVE

OK, so like a fun fact to everybody in the clink universe not everybody has to go to Bridon

and definitely not at the exact same time 

[organised-disaster]

I downloaded IbisPaint so I could animate things at some point. I've never animated before and decided to make an animation of a guy blinking one eye at a time and when I'd realised it had gotten away from me I couldn't be bothered to fix it

Here he is as a gif because you'd want him for some reason

[noblesvacation]

I'm gonna do it.

I'm going to reread I'll Think of This as a Vacation and Enjoy It, aka the original Gentle Noble webnovel.

There are currently 206 chapters on Syosetu (192 chapters of the main story plus side stories), which means if I read 17 chapters a month, or 4~5 a week, I can do it.

I'm going to do this and take NOTES so that I can write up summaries of each chapter and record such things as characters, labyrinths and labyrinth goods, and information about the magic systems.

Obviously, this will eventually get into spoiler territory for those reading the translated manga. They're gonna be long posts anyway, so they'll be under readmores, and I'll note where chapters line up with the manga and when we pass what's been released. (Reminder that manga vol 10 is coming January 28th, 2025!)

Happy 2025, Gentle Noble fandom! Let's enjoy even more adventures with Lizel, Gil, Eleven, and the rest this year!