#but also they will fuck in heaven too

[annmariethrush]

Thinking about the line “Do it doggy style so we can both watch x files” from the sex song The Bad Touch and DeanCas cause ofc

Dean proposing that they have sex while they’re on the couch watching X Files and Cas agrees but goes to turn the tv off and Dean’s like, nah just fuck me from behind and we can keep watching. Cas giving Dean the ‘humans baffle me’ look. Dean retorting with “Look, I know it doesn’t make sense to you cause you have literally all the time in the world but I’ve only got another 40 years in me at best. Not enough time to get all the serial tv shows and carnal pleasure in that I have on my agenda. Besides, I might get dementia and not be able to understand X files if I wait and I know for a fact that my joints are not getting any younger. Now line up lover boy, Scully’s about to see something science can’t explain.”

[weaselmcdiesel]

Do You Love The Color Of The 413?

[catsharky]

I'm sobbing and clawing at the screen begging Larian to just let my Tav give more hugs because so many of these characters need it.

WIP cause this is getting colours, I just like how the lines look

Edit: Colours

[ohhamlet-art]

One last black bird without a place to be turns around, in hopes to find the place it last knew rest.

[flintbian]

There's a disabled angel in good omens 🥺

[pockettgcf]

SLAMS THE DESK

REVERSE ROLES AU WITH CALMITY XIE LIAN RULING OVER GHOST CITY AS TAIZI DIANXIA AND HE IS EXTREMELY PROTECTIVE OVER HIS CITIZENS BECAUSE HE ISN'T GOING TO LET THEM GET HURT LIKE THE PEOPLE OF XIANLE

[microclown]

I've been stuck on viewing Maggie as Crowley's mirror, and for most of the show I like that interpretation. But once I started thinking of Nina as Crowley's Mirror in the ball scene specifically, I made a connection....

Aziraphale is playing God here. He has a vision- a happy romantic evening where people speak Victorian English, dress nicely, dance, and fall in love -and he wills everyone present to conform to his plan. But Nina doesn't conform. Nina feels like something isn't right. She asks questions.

She asks Aziraphale what's going on, why she doesn't feel sad when she knows she's sad, and Aziraphale doesn't give her a satisfactory answer. He tells her that the important thing is that she's here. She's here to play a role in his great plan. To dance in his ball.

So she expresses her concerns to Maggie. Maggie hadn't seen the issues at first, but she listens to Nina, and Nina gets her to acknowledge the absurdity of the situation just a little bit. Listen to their conversation at the dance again. It sounds SO MUCH like the conversations we've heard Crowley and Aziraphale have a thousand times during their 6000 year dance. Crowley calling out heaven, asking questions, trying to get Aziraphale to consider the absurdity of it all. Aziraphale mostly defending heaven, but listening, and sometimes acquiescing.

And this all falls in line with a point I've made before - In season 2, Crowley's relationship with Aziraphale begins to mirror his relationship with heaven. Aziraphale shows a pattern of not listening to Crowley the whole season, but especially in this scene. Crowley tries to ask him what is going on, and alert him to very real danger, but Aziraphale is dismissive. He is blinded by his desire to see his plan to fruition.

And just so we're clear, this is not an Aziraphale hate post. Rather, I think it might give us some insight into where God is coming from. Because Aziraphale's actions may be dismissive and controlling, but they are motivated by love. Misguided, certainly, but with all the best intentions. I have a feeling, when we finally meet God, it will be a similar story. And maybe both She and Aziraphale will learn that sometimes to love means to let go.

[notherpuppet]

I’m so overwhelmed with what we saw,,,, I’m trying to grasp onto one train of thought

[amaranthdahlia]

if you won't be mine ... then

[leofrith]

obviously the quality of all these shows is suffering from the fact that their primary function is to provide the setup for future star wars projects (mcuification, baby!!! who's ready for the infinity war style team-up movie where the gang takes down thanos—i mean thrawn?). but i also think a big part of why the book of boba fett, mando s3 (and to a slightly lesser extent, s2 as well), and ahsoka all suffer from the same issue of having their main protagonists cast aside in favour of side characters—which in itself might not be as annoying as it is if those stories were even remotely interesting or well-written—is because filoni & co. want to be making an ensemble piece. but instead, they're stuck having to make a bunch of solo projects that are ostensibly about individuals or smaller casts of characters, which they then stumble their way through in the most half-assed, half-hearted way possible because it's all just setup for the "mandoverse movie," a phrase which makes me want to projectile vomit.

[dizzybizz]

😀 i love setting out to draw 1 character multiple times but ending up drawing multiple characters 1 time instead 😀 i love it so much 😀

[simptasia]

LOST: Season One

[peachpopfizz]

the last song + final minute of hazbin hotel (s1) has me

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

If Lek was in Shadow of Kyoshi

Lek, pale: *looking around* Spirits above and below! Rangi: ???? What is it Lek??? Lek: Everyone here looks like you, Rangi. Rangi: That's a little racist. Lek: No, I mean everyone looks pissed. Rangi, self-conscious: N-no one is pissed! This is just how we always look..... Lek, whispering to Kyoshi: I think we should leave, this place is a total powder keg.

[haztory]

sorry for being absent literally always, but i had to get this out of my drafts.

goddess!reader x mortal!bakugou; warnings: blood, mentions of sex, murder, unhappy relationships, unhinged reader and bakugou (tiny bit), not beta’d

(w.c. 2.1k)

Rapacious, your father would call you were he to see you now. Salacious, acting in behavior once thought deterred; The kind that he meant to have stamped out of you in an effort to cultivate you into the pious cog in of his senseless grandeur. His promise of destiny. 

Your father’s lips would be turned in that virtuous frown, eyes narrowed as he sat from his throne in the great pantheon of Gods. Validated by their fealty. The model figure that is woefully negligent as he speaks of the sanctity of commandments that have seen his betrayal one too many times before. Sanctimonious in his rectitude, righteous in his hypocrisy, your father is.

He meant to cage you, raging at your freedom and its significance—angry that you were wild, changing the tides of human wars with the gentlest of smiles and lulling whispers; Rampaging that fellow Gods, his own brothers, were victim to the whims of your games with the mortals; Furious that the power you wielded began to rival that of his own; Murderous that you were too much like him: untamed, greedy, victorious and still, adored. 

You have never known his anger to be long-lasting, especially not in a manner of great meaning when you could falsely promise your way out of it. Batting eyelashes in truce—but, this is beyond punishment for the defiance of a rule. He means to break you. 

A husband. 

One bound to you without your consultation, much less knowledge. Promised in hand and divinity to be half of a whole to this pitiful excuse of God. 

There was hardly an expectation of satisfaction within the marriage on a good day, much less pleasure in the ways that physically mattered; Could such a thing ever truly be expected from a man who only knew how to hammer metal? Up, down, up, down until the glowing steel was forged.

Your husband is a man of great fortitude, who knows and will only know that of the fire he works with. The flames reflected in the dullness of his irises being the only exciting thing about him. He is monotonous within his construction. Routined and boring. 

How could there ever be the expectation of fidelity from you, the Goddess of Love? 

How could you be shackled to the bedside of a man who has never known the strength of the sea from which you are born? How can you love a man who does not know the impact of the tide and draws no desire from its power? How can you be with a man who does not know and adore you as you are? For a millenia, nonetheless! 

You've come to know of this arrangement as a curse; A woeful attempt to tame you from the wild and lustful by forcing you to make acquaintance with the bland and boring. Binding you to the shore, never to make acquaintance with the push and pull of the forceful nature. 

Credit must be paid your way. You had tried. In the depths of shame and sorrow, you tried to do as your brothers and sisters and settle. Gave in and let yourself  believe that love and happiness could be found within routine, eventually. It is your novelty, after all. And yet, it still finds you. This yearning for more, the urge to love and be loved. Your nature still rises from the swaying tide and dares to edge the coast. 

Your father would not approve were he to see you now, watching from your high plane in the heavens to the happenings of the mortal world. Surely, your husband would violently disapprove too, convinced that he has you loyal. 

You shouldn’t fixate; Had promised in low lights and empty words in your husband’s grimy embrace that you have seen the errors of your ways; That you have and will change. For his sake. But he does not know what happens when he is away in his cave of brimstone. 

Your attention is caught. And the object of your fascination is a marvel.

Sculpted from clay himself, you have half a mind to believe that one of your siblings has had a part in his creation. Broad and muscular, sharp and angular in all the places that deem him a man. This mortal has caught your eye since his ascension from boy to man. He is a village soldier. Fiercely protective and eager for a fight, and yet always looking to the heavens. As though there was something there waiting for him, beckoning him closer. You suppose he isn’t wrong, as you peer down to him just as he looks up. 

There have been whispers of his fate amongst the crowds since he was a boy, certainty issued in his great destiny.  No one is more sure of it than he. 

Which may be what finds him in your temple. 

Sanctuaries have never known themselves to be exclusive, but you must admit that it is certainly strange to have a man of his designation pray to the Goddess of Love. Surely he must have found some alignment more towards that of your stoic sister, emboldened by the desire for courage and brawn. And yet he is here, treading the halls in the stillness of night and giving small offerings to each of your priestesses and holding one large offering basket for your statue.

He stands beneath the colonnade, staring pensively at the intricate designs of your image on marble. He speaks only when the room has been cleared, the priestesses giving him the space to pray in solace.

“I hear you.” His timbre is gruff yet smooth. Commanding as it echoes. “You are calling to me.”

You remain still, almost taken aback at his forwardness. The waves of temptation creep at your feet. 

“I intend to find you, whether you show yourself or not.” He speaks again. He looks up, and although you know it improbable, you swear eyes of vermillion have pinpointed your location in the sky. And so, it comes crashing.

It has been so long since you have last appeared before a mortal, and appearing before him transcends all relatability. To see the fixation, your desire, and to have him see you. If he is surprised by your arrival, he doesn’t show it. Eyes strong in their stoic gaze, lips almost curled in a sneer. One would think you were his enemy, but you know such a charge to be false. It’s a charge of electricity, the cooling nighttime air suddenly warming at the meeting of your gaze. 

He is no enemy to you, and you are certainly no stranger to him.

“No one has ever commanded me so directly. How did you know?” You ask. of genuine curiosity.

“I dream of you.” He says the answer so plainly, as though it were a common occurrence. You can’t help but raise a brow. 

“Oh?” 

“I have for years. It was only a matter of time before you showed yourself.”

The chains forged by your husband suddenly feel the lightest that they have ever felt. Metal rattling against each other, pushing and pulling as something brews within you. You wonder what this mortal thinks of you. If he finds you as beautiful as you find him; If the power within him is as strong as you think it is. 

If he is strong enough to cut through steel.

“And what did you dream of?” You ask, taking a step forward. Feeling elation fill you like the swirling breeze as his eyes quickly watch you step forward.

“Tch. Like you don’t know.” His jaw flexes and with it comes the bloom of a subtle blush on his cheeks. “Didn’t you plant the damn things?” 

No, you didn’t. You could certainly look to see what it is he dreamed of, but this is more fun. Finally, finally, you feel the remnants of yourself pulse alive. 

“Have you come to give me a greater purpose?” He asks quickly, in diversion. You let him, too satisfied with the newfound freedom to care much about his attempt at modesty. 

You step closer to him, watching as his eyes cascade down the sheer chiton adorning your body. “Is that what I did in your dreams? Fill you with purpose?”

You find yourself almost chest to chest with him, his eyes never leaving yours, “Or did you fill me?”

You laugh when his eyes widen, turning to take a chocolate from the offering basket held still in his hands and plopping it into your mouth. Marveling at its taste, deciding that it must be homemade.  “Is that what you are in search for? A greater purpose? How about a culinary artist? Your skills are impeccable.”

He doesn’t laugh. “I am destined for more.” 

He knows he is. You know he is. Have not eyed him for so long to have not known. He stands firm before you, a soldier waiting for instruction. In any other instance you would rebuke such a stand, revolt at the rigid and serious, and yet with him—

Well, in devotion to you, who can fault you for testing its limits? Especially when there is something that has sat within you, waiting for the opportune moment. 

You meet his gaze, deciding to no longer tease. “How much more?”

“Anything you will give me.” He quickly responds. 

“And this destiny you seek, do you do it for pride or service?”

“I am your loyal follower and patron, Goddess Divine. What I do is for you.”

“A man like you, patron to me. How lucky am I?” You smile, but it is quickly assumed by the sneaking tendrils of your dark desire. Your voice stills, “The task I have for you is very arduous. Unyielding, difficult, and not aimed for the weak. Destiny setting, to be sure.”

The man seems to preen at those words, a smile finally finding its way to his face. It curls, dangerously, hungrily. “Name it.”

“Once it is spoken, it cannot be undone.” You warn.

“The task is mine alone.” He insists.

You find yourself before him again, and he leans in to listen closely. You can sense the fight in him, smell his musk. The promised freedom teeters on the edge of your words. 

“...kill Hephaestus. Free me from the shackles of my constricting punishment.”

He doesn’t blink, doesn’t balk, doesn’t shy away from the treasonous words. He does as you have seen him do and stands firm, almost vibrates with his desire to act. 

You can almost feel the brush of the sea on your skin again. 

“And my reward?” He asks, confidently.

“Is my eternal patronage and favor not enough?” You laugh, eased in his presence rather than tight at the admittance of your evil. Circling around him, you drag your finger across the broadness of his bare and unmarred shoulders. You wonder if the purity of his skin is a reflection of his valiance. Wonder if your desires are steered correctly, that he is the one to have the strength to carry him to victory. 

He glances to you over his shoulder, “Surely, the Goddess has more in plan for the man set to kill her husband than bragging rights?”

Curiosity clouded with the tendrils of lust at the man who holds your fate in his hands, you place your chin on his shoulder, meeting his vermillion gaze as your nose scarcely brushes the smooth expanse of his sculptured chin. Intimacy with a man who isn’t your husband, intimacy that is natural and wanted rather than forced.

“Cheeky.” You murmur, and his grin widens. A veil of clouded air blurs his vision before you reappear in front of him, your weight placed onto him as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Bring me the head of my oppressor,” You begin, said so airily it could be mistaken as a light conversation rather than a plot for murder, “And I will make you a God in his place. Meant to enact your own destiny, made to rule beside me.”

You lean your forehead closer, meeting him as your noses brush in meeting. Tracing one another, you whisper, “Can you do it?”

Without hesitation, he breathes into you. “I am yours, Goddess Divine.”

“And your name, O Great Warrior?”

“Bakugou.” A storm brews mightily in his irises and you can taste the salt of the spray, feel the ocean beckoning you home. 

Your release from the cage is so close to the touch, the hilt of the sword dealing the victory blow to your freedom held by him. 

You smile, wide, and true, and lustful for blood. “A fitting name for a God.” 

It comes as no great surprise when the mortal appears at your temple a few weeks later. He is limping through marbled halls and dripping with blood, the key to your cage held in his hands. Your husband's severed head held by his bloodied and mangled fingers, a wicked smile on his face as he beckons you down from the heavens. You find yourself once again, marveling.

And finally, in love.

[idontparticularlyliketoast]

You know how with some media, your perspective kind of shifts a bit on a rewatch? Going through season 1 of Heaven Official's Blessing, I was very much in Xianle's corner, trying to keep up with the large cast of characters and figure out the mystery of Ban Yue Pass and San Lang. Watching Season 2, after having read the whole story, I feel suddenly very sympathetic to Hua Cheng, who is desperately trying to do nice things for Xianle and give him a fucking break (and possibly woo him as well) only to be constantly thwarted by Xianle's helpful nature and fucking Abysmal luck. You know that armory was the most fire-proof thing until it was legally owned by Xianle. What do you give the man with the world record of "Most Gifts Exploding In His Face"?