#he says this instead of doing hail marys

[gay-stuff-is-happening-here]

Saw this post and thought of him 🫶🫶🫶

[literalgrill]

Do NOT Support Hard Drive On Patreon

You might see friends today suggesting you support Hard Drive on Patreon today. You know, the funny video games version of The Onion? As a journalist, I will firmly tell you DO NOT GIVE THEM A DIME.

The CEO has pushed out all former staff that have built the site up to its current greatness and has been pushing the use of AI. The staff begged to have a Patreon before basically all being pushed out, but the idea was refused until now, when it will only line the pockets of a single person instead of hard working writers.

I know they might have provided laughs before, but Hard Drive is a shell of what it was once. Let it die and support the people who actually made those moments of joy possible. Don't believe me? Check out what former employees are saying below:

Kevin Podas: Okay you know what, I would feel bad saying nothing about this, so here goes:🚨SAVE YOUR MONEY🚨

We passionately advocated for a Patreon at Hard Drive & were aggressively shot down. The talent & people who built the site were pushed out. To see this now is beyond upsetting. For the past few years or so I put a lot of myself into this website. I pitched a ton of jokes, got over 120 articles published, & met a lot of great people. I'm sure if you've been following me for some time you could easily see this.

However, there is a lot of misinformation. I was eventually promoted to Managing Editor of the site & was ecstatic. Grateful for the opportunity. Felt like all of my hard work in the comedy mines was finally paying off. But things took a turn for the worst, & each day there were new surprises that affected our livelihoods. These were all very avoidable surprises, mind you.

A patreon was going to be our hail mary, but alas, for some reason, the power that be did not want it. Causing us to leave a dream job behind. "At least we did all we could," we consoled ourselves afterwards. I put a lot of myself into this project. I pitched all sorts of ideas that could have helped-- we all did. Merch collaborations, Patreon-integrated YouTube content, so much more. And most of them were shot down out of sheer stubbornness and nothing more. To see lie after lie spread, and multiple big publications and YouTubers that I am a fan of promote this Patreon under these pretenses is incredibly upsetting. There are so many receipts.

Please share this and consider pulling out if you've already put money into this. On Hard Drive using AI, also from Kevin Podas: I can't personally confirm that part aside from some of the recent header images for articles on both Hard Drive and Hard Times are being made with AI. As far as writing, it's been mentioned in the past, but I personally do not know. Maybe others do, maybe not. MORE From Kevin Podas suggesting the owner denying a Patreon being set up earlier cost an artist a job that was replaced by AI: We had a social media person who was awesome! He made the images until this AI implementation. He had to leave because ad revenue was low and a Patreon was aggressively refused.

Luca Fisher: at the risk of burning some bridges, i have to back up kevin here. i've only been part-time, in-and-out of hard drive since i got in last year, but i can corroborate that management doubled and tripled down about not hosting a patreon/crowdfunding and that many other suggestions and ideas, including mine (and ones much smarter than mine!), were shot down in really long, apocalyptic threads of everyone left on deck desperately trying to come up with ways to keep the lights on. managerially it has been messy and sad

i've written for multiple publications that have long since died, ones that were in the process of dying, and ones that, in this case, are soon to be put in the ground. it is sad and sucks every time. i don't know what could have been done differently, but i do know that a lot of great writers and content creators were left shorthanded and unhappy by the way things have gone. and it is sort of puzzling to see the sudden championing of patreon after we were all told plenty of times that it couldn't work and we should move on also, just to add my own personal two cents here, i was really disappointed by the shuttering of many different article sections on the site over the past 6-8 months. i understand cutting corners in a deficit, and i know it had to be done. that said…

all in all, i'm really sad to see this all happen. i don't fault anyone, if only because i don't really know enough about how this all can happen to make sense of it. games journalism is in a sad, sorry state, and will likely no longer be a thing in the next decade

VideoSealMan: I'm gonna say this because I think I deserve to. For months, MONTHS on end I was bugging Hard Drive management about a Patreon. Often I got ignored for a week+, but when I actually got a response I was encouraged to - of all things, write up a Google Doc pitching the concept I did it regardless. I wasn't the only one trying to sway management on a Patreon, but so fiercely was I fighting for it that last night, I was accused of making this comment directly by the CEO! With no evidence whatsoever! After I'd been gone for over a month.

I vouched so hard for Patreon because I wanted all the writers and creatives working with Hard Drive including myself to get paid better. When I actually got a response, the idea was often shut down. Eventually due to the state of my company, my pay was cut for a second time I confronted management alongside a couple other important figureheads at the org and told them that if we couldn't do a Patreon - I could no longer financially justify staying there. The answer was still no, so I left. Baffled at the decision, but whatever.

It is unendingly frustrating to know that myself and many other people who put their soul into Hard Drive LEFT because of management's absolute refusal to compromise on a Patreon, to then see them launch one anyway a month later and get over 1000 people pledging money. I'm seeing a lot of things float around about greed and people being fired. No one was fired. Everyone who left, left because they were sick of management's decision-making. And honestly, management is a lot of things but I would not call them greedy. (From my experience.) They did genuinely make an effort to pay people as much as possible. I found the pay very fair for a while. I am not disputing that I was paid what I was owed - yet management frequently feels the need to remind critics of that. Lmao, yes. I was paid what I was owed. No one is disputing payment. You did the bare minimum a business owner should do and paid everyone their due, very well done. I make no allegations of greed, cheating or foul play. I make allegations of poor management and incompetence that has fucked over other people.

Basically the only people left at Hard Drive have been there for about 2 months. They will reap the rewards of this successful Patreon I and so many others passionately fought for for so long. We will not see a dime.

I do not know the new people at Hard Drive, But I feel bad for them. They were haphazardly thrust into Hard Drive's workplace with little to no explanation on how anything works, or given any context on the state of the place. Even now managements feeds them half-truths and misinformation about other people's grievances. I am broke and have been for a while. I had to move out of my flat in Reading and back with my family because of how little money I was making. This has basically doomed my flatmate to moving back in with abusive parents, which is something I feel guilty about every day. If we had gone with the Patreon I worked myself hoarse over back then, this could have been avoided. Some of my other good pals could also not have been fucked over.

It was a bad judgment call, but it's not a crime. It's just management getting it wrong.

So should you give to the Hard Drive Patreon? I don't know! I don't think any of the new people working there to patch up the holes left by the recent mass exodus have any bad intentions. Maybe they deserve it! But it is not the same site you knew a year ago, or even a month ago. Myself and many people who were there far longer than me and did far more for it than I did are all gone now because we could not deal with management's terrible decision-making and dogass communication any longer. That's what you should know, imo

I had an agreement in place with management that I would receive the next 8 months of revenue from the Hard Drive YT channel from my leaving in November. This was a deal I appreciated, and thought was very fair on management's behalf. So far, the deal has been honoured for 2 months. However as of last night I was removed from the Hard Drive Slack without warning, and as an editor for the YouTube channel. This means I no longer have any way of verifying how much I am owed, I just have to take their word for it. I'm sure management will make their own statements full of half-truths and weird language on the many cases being brought against them - I'd take everything they say with a pinch of salt if some of the screenshots I've seen of them talking about me are any indication lol

To management; I do not want to talk to you. I want you to DM me a screenshot of how much I'm owed every month and then send me the money per our agreement until June, then we can go our separate ways. Do that and admit to your mistakes, and maybe you can recover your reputation! That's it from me, lol. If they pull out of the deal and fuck me over I'll have more to say, but most of what I know is other people's stories of incompetence and poor decision-making, lol. I genuinely get no pleasure out of doing this; I do not think management is evil - I just think they're really bad at what they do and it's cost other, more talented people, lol. You should believe the writers imo

One last thing I wanna say btw, management did often stress that no one should try to make Hard Drive a full time thing. They were transparent about that, and that is fair. I was working on it because at a few points, I was lead to believe we actually were doing a Patreon. Many other ppl have similar stories of being strung along by management changing their minds and stop-starting shit every 2 weeks. We all made the fatal mistake of overestimating our manager - who would tell you one thing one day and something totally opposite the next week lol

Hunter R. Thompson:

I'm not your dad, but speaking as a Hard Drive writer, I don't know that funding Hard Drive on Patreon is worth it

The driving talent on the back end—behind the kickass site I joined in 2019—have peaced out over the years as the site's been (in our view) increasingly mismanaged. Mismanagement like, not setting up crowdfunding before the ship sank and all its best crew failed; or publishing a screenshot of Andy Ngo pedojacketing a trans writer, complete with her deadname; or a disgruntled ex-writer getting falsely accused of shit-talk, by actual staff. I'm grateful for the writing I've gotten to produce for HD (and will forever be kicking myself for not writing even more, in the four years I've had to do it!! i'm a dumbass!!!) but it is very much no longer the site I signed up for.

I don't want to resign as a contributor altogether, because I'm open to the idea of the site recovering and bad practices being retired as finances level out-- it would just be dishonest for potential backers to not be Aware Of The Circumstances, I think.

Jeremy Kaplowitz: i truly don't want to start shit, but feel compelled to say: i want to see Hard Drive succeed w/o resorting to throwing former writers & editors, myself included, under the bus. surely there's a way to save the site without building it over the corpses of those who left. my $0.02 i don't blame anyone who wants to sign up for the HD patreon and i support the website, but that includes those who worked on it for years, have complaints, and don't deserve to be treated like bitter assholes like this kind of stuff is just objectively true, meanwhile there's these new writers who joined the site after i left (meaning, in the last ~3 months) claiming people are liars. decide for yourself if you care, but this is what happened! [Quotes this Tweet]

Seth Finkelstein: Writing for Hard Drive has been a privilege the past few years, and it makes me so angry to see people I looked up to get jerked around behind the scenes. The amount of grenades the editors jumped on our behalf is immense, and I don't think the way they're being treated is right.

Other Bits On AI: We do know for sure however that AI art has been used by the site. Its fucking owner confirms it here:https://twitter.com/MattSaincome/status/1743040541603123622. Seems the owner pushed AI written articles as well! TayFabe: My vaguetweet is making the rounds & these made me apoplectic. - owner regularly lobbied using ai. Once he tested it & said ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. - ai images were used on the site & socials w/o consulting the team or disclosing it publicly I found the ai bit relevant to include bc 1) it illuminates a stark change in HD's current direction & leadership, 2) ai images have previously been used on the site and (since deleted) ig posts, 3) ai content fucking sucks, and repeatedly pushing to use it is a telling quality The "handful of writers who chose to leave" includes 2 editors-in-chief (both cofounders who wrote a combined total of >1,000 articles & defined the voice of HD), & at least 3 other editors. These guys put in WORK since 2017, so cool to be corrected by ppl who joined in Nov 2023 [Link to mentioned vague tweet from post.] More from TayFabe: owner continuously lobbied for using ai in every possible way. No one else wanted to do it, but he kept on, saying ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. Also, ai images were used on the site & socials without public disclosure or consulting the team.

The owner has responded now multiple times in a private discord... Thank you for people sharing screenshots! First Screenshot:

Kevin's Response: He banned me from the server for speaking out, so no, I didn't see it. And he gave no indication of a timeline, it was just "we'll do one when *I* say so" and gave every inclination he was totally against it. It bred an environment that pushed our hands to have to leave. Screenshot Round Two:

Kevin's Response: "Starting one in 3 months" is an absolute lie. He denied it, I have screenshots and others who can confirm. No timeline was given. Just "this is what it is now" and like, I couldn't live off of that. I wanted to do more but he was allergic to good ideas from others around him.

Matt, owner of Hard Drive, responds publicly on Twitter.

Matt: Kevin, the patreon launch was delayed because I didn't think it would work. Everyone is happy that it did work. Everyone who left the site because we didn't have money to pay for creative content which didn't revenue is welcome to return home. But unclear why the hostility.

Hard Drive paid out literally every dollar it had, then a bunch more, to creative people who worked on the site. When we ran out of money, we couldn't pay anymore. We did our best.

Kevin: Right, and my point of this thread was that it was completely and totally avoidable. This is reasonable to be upset about. How could I have been any more clear?

Matt: If we knew with 100% certainly that the community would have supported us via patreon, we would have done that. We didn't know. We had tried 4 years ago and got no support. We were wrong this time. We did our best to figure it out. We paid all the money we could.

Kevin: So you knew with 100% certainty this time? Or you took a leap of faith?

Matt: It was a last gasp panic effort after ad rates got cut in half on january 1st due to seasonal spending changes. We didn't know it would work. We were embarrassed to ask for support. We wanted to figure it out.

Kevin: Every site has a Patreon. Every YouTuber, comedy group, etc. But you insisted that nobody cared about Hard Drive. Which is wildly untrue. I know you see that now, but again, I think you can see why I and many others are pretty upset. A last ditch panic effort was long overdue. A couple more things from Matt:

It was about the size of the hole we needed plugged budget wise, the time I had left of personal resources, and the past data I had about us trying a patreon (which turned out to be a bad indicator). I didn't think the Patreon would help us fast enough. I made a bad estimation

aka "if we make $1000 more dollars a month via patreon, which would be 10x what we got last time, we will not solve any of our problems. If instead we try to plow down path B, we might make it out in time." That was the thinking. I chose the wrong path, but didn't mean to Kevin also retweeted this comment from the user Matt was responding to: So you're saying that you're bad at running the business, didn't listen to any of your employees until after they were forced to leave their jobs, and now you're going to get more of the money from the Patreon that was their idea in the first place? Matt's Response: Respectfully, I made a mistake delaying the patreon decision. But keeping a comedy site alive for 9 years is not easy, there are lots of potential ideas, and think overall we've done a good and honorable job. Will leave this thread in peace now to allow people their space.

Sorry for linking to Elon's hellsite (derogatory), but sources need links so...

[monstersighing]

MDNI, 18+, NSFW

AFAB Reader x priest

Content: Blasphemy, priest kink, penetrative sex, creampie, public sex, dirty talk.

Title: Confessional

+++

You go into the confessional box because the young priest fresh from the seminary is there.

You spill out every filthy thought and desire that you’ve had to him. What you think of when you masturbate, how often you do it, how the shame of confessing makes your cunt leak and face burn.

You tell the priest that when you opened your mouth to receive the host from his hand at communion you imagined him pushing his fingers in your mouth to suck on. How the dry host stuck to the roof of your mouth. That you wished it was his plump leaking cock you were tonguing instead.

His breathing gets louder, laboured. You hear a shifting sound of fabric. You can only see an indistinct shadow of the priest through the confessional screen, but he is bent forward, bowed over his lap now. His discomfort and desire fan yours. You clench your thighs around nothing. You tell him that even now, in the midst of your confession, you are imagining new sins you could commit with him: being bent over the altar as his cock slams in you, over and over, your desperate hands clenching the altar covering under you, crying out to God.

When he gives your three rosaries to say to atone, he speaks slowly, stutters. As you leave the confessional you hear a bitten off moan.

You kneel in front of a pew and begin to pray, but before you’re even finished with your first Hail Mary you push a hand down your waistband so you can rub at your clit.

You feel a presence from behind you and the priest is there. He pulls you to your feet, grasps your wrists and pushes your hands down flat onto the pew in front of you. When he grasps your jaw to draw your attention to the altar and the crucified Christ hanging above it, you moan.

“Start again,” he says. “Look at him and repent.” His body is pressed full length behind you. You can feel the hardness of his cock against your back.

You can only say “Please please please.” The priest is holding your face towards the altar, but your begging isn’t directed at God.

“We will do this, we will repent, and then we will both be clean,” the priest says. He grinds his cock slowly against your ass, “There is no way back from this, only through, I think. But we must temper your pleasure with pain, so you learn.” He paws against your tits and then pinches your nipples so pain sparks bright from them. When you cry out, he twists your nipples harder. The pain and the pleasure twist and become one. Your cunt throbs.

The priest pulls down your pants and leaves them trapped over your thighs. You feel him move back for a second, then hear the rasp of his zip. You feel him line up his cockhead with your hole, and then he fucks in with one hard push. Once inside he slams into you fast and desperate, and your legs shake. His fingers bite down hard on your hips. You can hear the slick sound your cunt makes with each plunging stroke of his cock and the slap of skin against skin. You drop your head to your hands and feel as his thrusts become staccato and he spurts inside you with a groan. You come a moment after, on the feeling of cum filling your hole and the priest fucking it deeper with one last grinding push inside you.

He leans forward and whispers against your ear, “Four rosaries now,” he says. “And I’ll see you for private confession in the vestry next week.”

[dunmeshistash]

G'day, I hope you are doing well.

Ever since I finished the story of Dungeon Meshi (all supplementary material included) I've been writing down bullet points on characters in addition to in-depth synopses as a way to tidy up my rather busy mind. To this end I've also greatly enjoyed reading other folks' interpretations of particular characters, as it gives me further insight into aspects of that character I may have glossed over.

However, there's one character I'm struggling to write a cohesive synopsis about, that being none other than 'miss enigma' herself, Falin Touden. I get that her whole shtick is that she's kind of a mystery, but I find myself drawing a lot of blanks when it comes to her as a character, and while I have nailed down some important bullet points, there are a lot of different interpretations on her, all of which starkly contrast one another. Though perhaps it's just the wording. Hard to say.

It could very well be that I'm being too dense i.e. perceiving "Falin is willing to risk killing others to save her friends." and "Falin, in the heat of the moment, when faced with certain death, was willing to face the prospect of harming potential passersby in a final Hail Mary to get her friends to safety." as entirely different observations. I have a hard time with those kinds of things.

With this being a hub for all sorts of observations, interpretations and cool trivia, I was wondering if you'd perhaps be willing to share how you yourself perceive Falin as a character, so I can compare notes and perhaps gain a more proper understanding of her as a character as a result. I know this question is very broad and kind of vague, but if you could spare the time I'd be most grateful.

Other than that, I wish you an excellent day.

Hello!!! I love Falin!!!!!

She *is* a mystery, we mostly know Falin through the perception other characters have of her instead of a direct deep look onto who she is, which I find very interesting. I think the best post I've seen about her (which as usual I can't remember where edit: someone linked it thank uu) I think called her perceived altruism/love "selfish" and I've been thinking about that ever since.

In that sense the way she cares so much about the comfort of people around her might be a way to keep *her own* comfort because she doesn't want to see other people suffer.

This girly died and came back to life from bones and the first thoughts she has is that she caused trouble for her loved ones

She probably has felt this way since she was a child, "because of her" that her family was torn apart "because of her" that Laios left, her mom was sick, her father had to send her away. (wasn't actually her fault but she might think it is)

I imagine ever since then Falin has done her best to not cause trouble and to make the people she loves happy, everything we know about her and the things she was doing was always for the people she loved, that's why I enjoy the post canon comic where Toshiro asks her hand in marriage again so much. The first time she considers accepting just because "might as well" while for the second time she finally wants to live for herself.

I think Falin herself has lost who she "really is" by trying to accommodate everyone around her and that's probably part of why we ourselves don't really know her, so much so that the most cynical character is uncomfortable around her (probably cause he notices Falin is "hiding" something)

I think Falin is quite the melancholic character to be honest, someone who has lost herself in self sacrifice and who is only now learning how to live for herself doing what she wants.

Both the teleportation scene and the bit about healing show "cracks" in the selfless front she puts out tbh. By context I don't think what she did was only due to "desperation of the moment" she says out loud "Even if I end up hurting others I want you and my brother to live on". She weighted out how much suffering she might cause and decided she wanted to save them anyway, and I'm sure in that calculation she knew that they would suffer because of her sacrifice too.

Falin is saving them for herself, I'm not great with words so this is all over the place and maybe sounds a little negative about Falin but the thing is, you cannot live your life for other people, you can't sacrifice yourself for other people's happiness, you shouldn't erase your own presence so others are happier and I think Falin is starting to learn that by the end.

I'd probably keep rambling without getting anywhere and missing a lot of more meaningful moments but I'll stop here, if anyone has recs for Falin analysis please share!

[im-ovulating]

(A/n: I have no excuse or reason for this, but here ya go! lmao)

Word Count: 991

Summary: Even in death, Tate can't seem to shake his mother's insults. He DOES know how to make your legs shake, though.

Warnings: Praise Kink, Mommy Issues, Use of 'good boy" and 'pretty boy', Both Tate and Reader are a switch, Tate's a pretty crier

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

(yes he gets 2 gifs, what about it?)

Tate Langdon x Fem! Reader: Shake

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

"-fuck!"

You spread your legs a bit more to take him deeper, both of you gasping out at the new sensation.

"I'm good, right? I'm good for you?" Tate is in shambles beneath you. A run-in with the ever-deprecating Constance left him in desperate need of some positive female praise and you couldn't just say 'no' to the tear-stained, brown eyes that begged for your comfort.

"Ah~" A smile breaks across your face as you lean down to pepper kisses along Tate's jaw. "You wanna be good for me? Wanna be my good boy, Tate, hmm?"

His cock twitches in you as you make it to his lips, lightly biting down on his bottom lip before lifting up just enough to make eye contact.

His hips jerk up to meet yours at a particularly hard thrust of your hips. "God- Yes! Wanna be so good for you! Wan' you t' use me. Use me any way you want; I'm yours! Mmh, hah."

You slide your hands up his chest to tug at his shaggy, blonde hair. "Just lay there and look pretty for me, then, hm? Can you do that for me, my sweet, pretty boy?"

He takes a second to answer, focused on how ethereal you look straddling him; using his body as you please, knowing how to bring both of you over the edge.

That's one of his favorite things about you: When he needs you to take the lead, he knows that you'll only take what you both need. That you'll command without controlling. That you understand his vulnerability and will only push him as far as he needs you to.

A groan is punched out of Tate as you clench around him, effectively snapping him out of it. "I can- ohh..."

Satisfied with his answer, you press a searing kiss to his waiting mouth. It's all tongue and teeth but neither of you care, too wrapped up in each other to mind. You slide your hands from his hair to caress his cheek.

"Such a good boy~" You singsong as you sit back, moving your arms behind you to support your weight on his thighs as you slam your hips against his with more vigor. His moans sending shock waves down your spine, settling in your already soaked core.

His hands move to grip your hips hard enough to bruise, but all it does is spur you on.

"Fuck, fuck- Please~" He shifts underneath you, causing his pelvis to rub deliciously against your clit.

"Oh god~ Tate!" Your head drops forward at the spike of pleasure.

You grab one of his hands to bring to your clit, desperate for the stimulation again.

Determined to be the best he can be for you, his finger works in tandem with every gyrate of your hips to tighten the coil forming in your core.

Ever the expert of your body, Tate helps you spiral towards your climax faster than you anticipated. You're gasping for breath as your walls start to clamp down on his cock impossibly tighter.

Tate lets out a groan at the feeling, his head pushes back against the pillow, thumb still rubbing firm circles on your clit. His eyes glisten with unshed tears as he tries not to cum.

"Don't stop baby... oh fuck, please," His plea is hoarse and gravelly as he starts to properly slam him hips up to meet yours.

"Wasn't- AH- planning on it." You let out a breathy moan as you fight the forming burn in your thighs, trying to focus on the heat curling inside you like an inferno instead.

"Oh- Fu- I'm so close baby. Please tell me you're close too." You can hear the strain in his voice. "Wanna cum with you~"

You're tensed like a rubber band being stretched to its limits as you try to keep pace. Your legs are shaking with the exertion, and you can barely lift yourself up.

"Tate- Tate, oh god, Tate!" His name is spilling from your lips like a Hail Mary in a mixture of content and desperation.

"What do you need, beautiful?" Tate pants. "Just tell me- tell me what you need from me and it's yours."

It's now that your legs decide to give out with one last quiver, dropping you against his torso. Without missing a beat, Tate flips you on your back, resting on his forearms as he takes over.

The sound of your heavy breathing fills the room along with the obscene squelching of Tate's cock as it pistons in and out of you and it's all you can do to not scream his name for the whole neighborhood to hear.

Almost instantly, Tate's boxing you in - arms flexing beside your head as he pounds into you. Your hands pull at his hair, dragging him closer to press his searing lips to yours once more.

"Good boy," you mumble into the kiss, broken moans leave the both of you just to get swallowed by the others mouth. "So good for me~"

Tate moves to bury his face into your neck, small cries mixed in with his groans and whimpers. "I'm good? Your good boy? Only yours?"

His questions start to get more frantic as his hips start to jackrabbit; his fingers digging even further into your skin as you both near your climax.

"Pleasepleaseplease-" he whines, begging you to cum with him.

And who are you to deny him such a simple request? Especially when he asks oh so politely.

"Cum, Tate -" you gasp. "Be a good, sweet boy and cum for me?"

And he does; a wet sob rips its way from his throat as he buries himself inside you, coating your insides with the pretty pearl of his spend. The heat flooding you is just enough to tip you over the edge as well - your nails scratch down his back as your head tilts against the pillow and your thighs tighten around his waist.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

SFX Magazine Issue 368, August 2023

THEY’RE BACK – AND THIS TIME THEY’RE IN ALL-NEW TERRITORY. NEIL GAIMAN TALKS RETURNING FOR SEASON TWO OF GOOD OMENS

THE RASCALLY DEMON Crowley (David Tennant) and the neurotic angel Aziraphale (Michael Sheen) put aside their differences to pull off one doozy of a Hail Mary and prevent an impending Apocalypse in Good Omens’ first season. The task cemented the pair’s unconventional friendship. So what are divine beings, who have fallen out of grace with both Heaven and Hell, to do for an encore?

The answer lies with archangel Gabriel (Jon Hamm), who shows up unannounced on the doorstep of Aziraphale’s London bookshop. Suddenly, Aziraphale and Crowley are caught up in a caper of biblical proportions – but also a more intimate tale.

“It’s a mystery,” showrunner Neil Gaiman tells SFX. “It kicks off a story that doesn’t have giant consequences for the universe, even if it does have consequences for Aziraphale and Crowley. We have a lot of the marvellous Jon Hamm, who is the angel Gabriel and turns up at the beginning stark naked, carrying a cardboard box with no memory of who he is. In the same way, it is about Aziraphale and Crowley having to get involved with humanity in a way that they haven’t before.

“They get dragged in slightly against their will to try to sort out the love life of Aziraphale’s tenant,” he continues. “Her name is Maggie [Maggie Service] and she runs the record shop next to the bookshop. You’ll see the coffee shop over the road, which is Nina’s [Nina Sosanya]. The relationship between Maggie and Nina is one that Crowley and Aziraphale try to fix, and mess up, because they are not good at human relationships, even if they can do miracles.”

Truth be told, Gaiman never originally intended this arc to serve as Good Omens’ second instalment. The TV series was based on Gaiman and Terry Pratchett’s 1990 novel. The two collaborators had partially hashed out the details for a sequel to the fantasy comedy, late one night in a hotel room. This, however, is not it. Gaiman instead plotted a new narrative that could provide the connective tissue between the first season and a theoretical season three, if it happens.

“Because the hypothetical season three exists, there is a story that is there, and I didn’t feel that we could drive straight from season one into that,” Gaiman explains. “I knew what the stakes were. I knew what the parameters were. I also knew that I had David and Michael. I had the angels from plot number one.

I had demons from plot number one. And with anybody that I wanted to bring back, but didn’t have room for right now, I did not have to bring them back as themselves. “I had absolutely nothing for Madame Tracy to do in this plot, but I would be damned if Miranda Richardson wasn’t going to be in this. She is one of my favourite people in the world. She is hilarious and is so good. And I knew I was going to have a new demon replacing Crowley as Hell’s representative in London/ the UK. Miranda’s demon Shax is the best demon you could want.”

It’s late February 2022 and SFX is in Edinburgh for a set visit. A soundstage in Pyramids Studios has been transformed into a street in Soho. The visible local stores include the aforementioned book, coffee and record shops, as well as a magic establishment. In the middle of them all stand Aziraphale and Crowley, the latter in close proximity to his classic Bentley. It’s close to the end of the six-episode season, so exactly what the duo is discussing constitutes a spoiler. We can say, however, that Aziraphale has picked up the pace. Time is of the essence as Shax marshals her forces to descend on Aziraphale’s store and retrieve Gabriel.

“This is really Shax’s first time out on Earth,” Gaiman explains. “She is working very diligently and very hard in Hell for a long time. Now she is on Earth, trying to figure it all out. She’s just discovering what Crowley has known for 6,000 years, which is that if you’re a demon and come up with a brilliant plan to screw up the lives of humanity, people will get there first and do worse than anything you could have imagined! She’s coming to terms with that.

“She is having to deal with the first crisis on her watch, as well, which is the disappearance of the archangel Gabriel from Heaven. It would be fair to say that by the end of the story, she is leading as much as she can get from Hell’s requisition department – a legion of Hell – in an attack on a Soho bookshop.”

When audiences catch up with Aziraphale again, he’s enjoying his time among humans. He owns most of the block in a Soho neighbourhood, and he’s meddling in Nina’s love life. Meanwhile, Crowley has been living in his car, with his plants sitting on the back seat. He’s grumpy about his current status quo, but frequently hangs out at Aziraphale’s. The duo began as antagonists, but their history and blossoming relationship will be fleshed out in flashbacks.

“One of the enormously fun things I came up with is the idea of minisodes,” Gaiman explains. “They are 25-minute-long episodes within the episode. We have three of them over our six episodes. Each of them is like one of those chunks of episode three [in season one]. Whereas the longest one of those was four or five minutes, if that, these are full stories.

“You get to have the story of [put-upon Biblical figure] Job, and you learn Aziraphale and Crowley’s part in the story. Then writer Cat Clarke takes us to Edinburgh in the 1820s for a tale of body-snatching and attempted murder that the boys get involved in,” he adds.

“Finally, Jeremy Dyson and Andy Nyman reunite the League Of Gentlemen in a Nazi-period story that takes place very shortly after the episode in the church. That one was the only one I said had to be there, because I fell in love with our Nazi spies in the church. I kept thinking, ‘What would happen if they essentially came back as zombies, with a mission from Hell to try and investigate whether or not Crowley and Aziraphale were actually fraternising?’”

Gaiman admits that one of the greatest challenges has been filming Good Omens simultaneously with his upcoming show Anansi Boys. The two shoot within throwing distance of each other, but are both timeconsuming endeavours.

“If I could go back in time, I would go back to 16 September 2020, when Douglas Mackinnon [co-producer] and I got the phone call from the Amazon bigwigs to say, ‘We have good news for you and interesting news for you,’” Gaiman recalls. “‘The good news is we are greenlighting both Good Omens and Anansi Boys. The interesting news is you are going to have to do them both at the same time.’

“I would go back to then and I would throw myself on the call and say, ‘Neil, don’t! This is unwise.’ That we are doing them both together is great. The amount of sleep I am not getting is monumental and monstrous.

“It’s a little bit like childbirth, in that I managed to forget all the things that drove me nuts about the first one. Having said that, I managed to fix all the things that really drove me nuts making season one, which is great. We just have a whole new set of problems making season two…”

The Odd Couple - David Tennant and Michael Sheen talk character and sets for season two

Crowley and Aziraphale come off as the best of frenemies at times. Where do they stand with one other now?

DT: They are indeed. What’s different in season two is because of what happened at the end of season one, they no longer have head offices that they have to report to. They are in a very different position. Whereas before they were trying to get away with things, now they are kind of free agents.

MS: Although sort of fugitives as well. They are sort of in-between. But this amazing life they have created over a millennia, they are now able to enjoy in a slightly different way. They are not having to put on a front for their respective teams. There is a different kind of freedom.

DT: While at the same time being cut off, so they are also strangers in a strange land.

MS: That kind of connects them in a slightly different way. They have always been the only two beings who could understand each other’s position. Now they are pushed even closer together.

Now that they have the run of the place with no obligations, does that bring its own set of problems, being cut off?

DT: They have this sort of uneasy relationship. They are not entirely cut off from their head offices. Indeed, their head offices are quite keen to exploit that sort of adjacent connection, as we will see as the story unfolds. They exist in this grey area, neither the supernatural nor of the Earth.

MS: By the time we pick up their story in this series, they have appeared in time where they were kind of let alone a bit more. When we pick the story up, they are being bothered again.

The depth and the richness and the detail of what we are seeing on set here in Edinburgh is mind-blowing. How is it for you having it all in one place now, rather than having filming scattered around the UK?

MS: It’s completely changed the experience of doing it. Just being indoors… The Soho set on the first season was freezing cold.

DT: I was in a car park. Even inside the bookshop I was exposed to the elements! There’s a greater percentage of the show set here. There was a practical imperative to making it a manageable environment. If we had been in a car park, the elements might have impinged our ability to film.

Hellraiser - David Tennant is Crowley

You and Michael know these characters inside out. Do you have a shorthand?

It’s a hard thing to be objective about. Although I didn’t know Michael that well before we shot season one, it was always easy and exciting working together. It’s well-oiled now, for sure. It’s certainly fun to come to work. We enjoy bouncing off each other.

How comfortable are they about becoming involved with Gabriel?

I suppose Aziraphale is a much more enthusiastic detective. We are very much voting for the spin-off called The Azirafiles, which will follow this! As with most things, Crowley is reluctant to get involved or to exhibit any kind of energy or enthusiasm about very much. He is dragged kicking and screaming into this. Necessity forces him to get involved, whereas Aziraphale rather likes it.

Where does Crowley hang out these days?

He spends a lot of time in the book shop. He only has one friend. He can only have one friend. That is the great liberation, and also the great prison, that they find themselves in. They have no one else. They have come to rely on each other more than they ever did. And more than they care to admit.

Crowley is a rock star, in a way. Were there any particular musicians that inspired you?

Not consciously, no. The look was assembled accidentally during the first costume sessions. The Crowley of the book is of the mode when the book was written. He is more kind of Wall Street, the way he is described. We just decided that Crowley should always be of the moment he’s in. We were just trying to find a look that we felt fitted.

Divine Being - Michael Sheen is Aziraphale

How has knowing your characters better informed this series?

The first series was the first time we really properly worked together. It feels like we haven’t stopped working together since. Everything that has happened in-between plays into coming back to these characters. I am sure it is all feeding into it. It’s very difficult for us to know how that is informing the characters and their relationships.

With the flashbacks to various points in Earth’s history, is there a period of time Aziraphale enjoys the most?

One of the most enjoyable things for the audience and us is moving through different historical periods. It’s a great source of joy, and people thoroughly enjoyed that episode in the first series, so that has been expanded on in season two. But in terms of which Aziraphale enjoys the most, I think it’s not actually a period of time that we’ve seen him in on this series.

He would have been happiest at the end of the 19th century, in the Victorian era, which is considered the golden age of magic. He would have loved being with the greats like Harry Houdini. He loved the Victorian period. It was a great period of time for philanthropy and doing good works in a municipal way.

How has it been going from something dark like The Prodigal Son to a more whimsical show?

That’s the nature of an actor’s job. You go from one thing to another. In some ways, it’s even more useful to have big differences between the characters. What tends to happen, and I think most actors feel this way, is if you are playing one character for a long time, part of you yearns to play the bits the character doesn’t have. There’s a naivety and an innocence about Aziraphale. But at the same time, underneath that, there is eons of knowledge and experience.

[sherlocks-blanket]

Drunk Confessions

A/N: Finally, after having not posted for such a long time... I can post a fic I had as a WIP since last year... I hope I get to write more again, but I can't promise anything. Anyway, I hope you guys like it.

Words: 1k

Warnings: Nothing, just some drunk sherlock?

After you received a message from Sherlock, that you should come as soon as possible to Baker street, minus the spelling errors; which you dismissed he messaged while being in trouble… You dropped anything you where doing and hurried outside to hail a cab; to take you to 221B.

The moment the cab halt, you paid the driver and rushed up the stairs to find Sherlock with John sitting towards each other with notes attached on their foreheads and from the liquor in their hand; you could probably tell, that they had too much for this evening, with how wasted they are…

As you gasped for air, you let yourself drop on the doorframe, drawing the attention from the two men. You noticed a smile spreading on Sherlock lips the second his eyes where on you, but it wasn’t a fake one; it radiates warmth like he was pleased to see you came, which was unlike for Sherlock to do. Not that he can’t do it, but when he does; it’s either false ones that you can tell apart from the real, since the real ones are rare and shows how comfortable he is with someone, that he shows it; unlike the fake ones, where he drops his smile immediately the moment the person turns they face away from him; which you noticed a few times…

A giggle from John broke the awkward silence in this room. You turned your gaze to the doctor and raised an eyebrow at him.

“I kneeeeeeeew it!” he exclaimed, pointing to Sherlock, then he took a sip from his drink.

You furrowed your brows in further confusion, but shaking your head; you got your phone out of your pocket and wrote Mary; telling her she should pick up her drunken fiancé… Just as you were done writing the text; a client walked into the flat and asked for Sherlock; but you kindly explained she should come tomorrow, since it gotten late. It made you wonder if clients show up at any hour of the day…

Sherlock, of course…He protested that the client shouldn’t leave even after the client had already left. After all, who knows? It could’ve been a missed opportunity for a case that could have gotten his interest; but you simply pushed him back in his armchair when he tried to stand up.

“You can work tomorrow…Now you better rest, so you’ll be sober for the next day…”

He stared with a sharp glare, like he wanted to prove with some deductions he’s capable of working, but he faltered instantly; which you took as a sign that he gave in. When you turned to help John downstairs; where Mary would pick him up; still you felt his eyes bore onto you.

As Mary left with John; she gave you an apologetic glance before they got into a cab; leaving you to deal with a drunken Sherlock.

When you stepped through the door, Sherlock sat still in his armchair, his posture relaxed; his eyes on something. You never saw him resting like that, but it most likely came from the alcohol…

His eyes wandered to you, noticing you were present again. There was this again…

This warm smile.

“Well…let’s get you sobered up…” you mumbled, leaning your hand on his shoulder to animate him to standing up, which he didn’t and instead, he took your hand in his own; staring at it like it was a piece of art.

“You have such soft hands...”,he murmured, keeping his eyes on your hand; rubbing his thumb along your palm.

You gently withdrawn your hand feeling the a heat rise on your cheeks; before you could say something again that he needs to rest, he slowly stood up wobbly on his own; leaning his hand your shoulder for support.

With you by his side, you brought him to his bedroom and only helped to remove his shoes and his suit jacket. It didn’t need to get more awkward than it already was for you.

Just as you turned the night light off and wanting to head to the living room; you felt your hand taken again and a warm feeling on it. You peeked over your shoulder; seeing Sherlock lean his cheek on it, with his eyes closed.

You tried to withdraw your hand, but at the same time, you didn’t mind it much. So, you stayed for a while and heard Sherlock snoring softly.

**********

The next morning you were preparing some tea and some water with some painkillers. You assumed he'll have a headache after yesterday…

Just as you wanted to get your stuff from the couch and leave for your own flat; you heard a door open followed with some footsteps.

“Morning.” You greeted him with a smile, which disappeared the moment you thought about yesterday again... It made you wonder if he remembered his drunken behavior or if he ‘deleted’ it from his ‘hard drive’.

Sherlock acknowledged you with a slight nod and went for the water and painkillers.

You watched him silently drink the water but felt uncomfortable for you staring at him. So you thought it was better to go. As you took a single step; Sherlock called your name, drawing your attention back to him.

“About yesterday-“

You interrupted him, holding your hands up in defense; ”No! It’s alright…I know you didn’t mean that…“

Sherlock stared at you, and you could tell he thought for his next words, as he slowly opened his mouth to only closed it again.

“I..I really like you, and I mean... It”

You raised your eyebrows in confusion from this explanation about yesterday until he added.

“ I mean…I like you more than a friend…”

You froze on the spot at his confession as weird as the situation was you wanted to show him you felt the same, so you got out of your stupor and hugged him. It definitely caught him by surprise.

“Do you…feel the same?” he asked cautiously.

You only nodded and said while chuckling; “Yes.”

Sherlock hummed in thought. “I might have to thank John for this…it was his idea to text you…”

You thought again before you slowly connected the dots about yesterday. Like when John said he knew it…Did he see that you liked Sherlock or Sherlock, you or even both? You shook the thoughts away since they didn’t matter anymore. The only thing what mattered…

…was now.

[goodlucktai]

17 with rise b-team?

dialogue prompts

17. “How many fingers am I holding up? ... I don't have six fingers.” 

x

“Ohmigosh!” Mikey scrambles down the fire escape with half of his usual grace—which is to say, not much—and lands with a clumsy splash next to Donnie’s boneless sprawl. “Donald, you hit the ground so hard pops probably heard it at home. Are you okay?”

Donnie makes a noise that just sounds like eeuuugrrgghheeuugh. Rainwater is seeping into him from all sides thanks to the puddle he landed in. Normally, he would be making this everyone’s problem by now. The fact that he’s just kind of laying there like he’s given up on life is really worth freaking out about. 

Worried, Mikey tugs frantically at the shoulder of Donnie’s jacket until he opens his eyes, then demands, “How many fingers am I holding up?” 

Squinting at him, Donatello thinks about it for a moment, then announces, “Six.”

“I don’t have six fingers!” Mikey shrieks, the peace sign he’s still holding up an inappropriately cheerful gesture for the current situation. 

His big brother scrambles upright at that, his wooden expression falling away and sheer panic flashing across his face instead. 

“What in Lovelace’s name do you mean you don’t have—”

Mikey lifts his left hand in its bright yellow short arm cast. They both look at it, and then Donnie puts his face in his hand without speaking in a way that manages to speak volumes. 

“You’re the one who told me to pretend like my broken hand wasn’t even there!” Mikey says defensively.

“Yes, because Nardo will hunt me for sport if you make that break any worse while I’m directly responsible for you.”

Drawing himself up to his full height, which isn’t remarkable on a good day and even less-so when he’s kneeling in the rainy mush of a Brooklyn alleyway, Mikey grits out, “I’m not a baby. I don’t need supervision.”

“Counterpoint, you are a baby and you do need supervision,” Donatello says dryly, heaving himself up off the ground. The battle shell absorbed the brunt of the impact, designed to protect his spine in pretty much every conceivable scenario, but he still looks like he feels pretty sore after that dramatic fall. He puts his hand out for Mikey to take, but Mikey sulks at him and ignores it. “Michael, I just watched you do a handspring off the railing of a sixth-story fire escape. 

“Yeah and it was sick.” 

Or it would have been, if not for the rusted joints that gave beneath roughly one hundred and fifty pounds of ninja turtle. Donnie’s last-minute save was sick as hell, though. 

He didn’t think twice before grabbing Mikey and hauling him onto the safety of the solid rooftop, using himself as a counterweight to pull it off. He wasn’t wearing the battleshell that could fly or turn into spiderlegs, because they were doing a junkyard run and he wanted the one with extra storage space instead. He knew he’d fall, he’s too smart not to have run all those calculations in the split-second he had, but he didn’t miss a beat. 

Mikey doesn’t like that Don almost got hurt helping him. It sours his righteous annoyance a little. And it also lessens his argument by a lot. 

“There are four of us, which divides neatly into two halves of two,” Donatello says patiently. “Two of us who are older, and two of us who are younger. You are firmly in the younger half. If it makes you feel any better, our fearless leader is, too. Why do you think Raph refuses to let him out of his sight while his leg is in that brace? You’re both the babies.”

“Bet you wouldn’t say that to his face,” Mikey mutters, but it does make him feel better, so he lets Donnie haul him to his feet. 

And Donnie was right about more than that, because the second they meet up with Raph and Leo, Leonardo demands, “Miguelito, what did you do?”

As one, Donnie and Mikey look down at his cast—which, okay, which has a thin crack down the middle. Presumably from when Mikey landed on the roof after Donnie’s Hail Mary throw. How did Leo even see it from way over there? 

Donnie starts to look hunted even before Leo whirls on him and says, “You had one job, Tello—make sure his razz stayed un-tazzed!” 

“That is easily a three-turtle operation and there is only one of me!”

Since the twins can go on for ages once they really get started, Mikey drifts over to Raph, offering his biggest brother his best smile. Raph smiles back like a knee-jerk reaction, reaching over to rub Mikey’s head affectionately.

“Have fun, big man?”

“Yep!” Mikey says sweetly. “Donnie will probably tell you some crazy story about acrobatics on a rooftop, but you know how he likes to exaggerate when Leo eggs him on. We had a totally lowkey junk run. Can we get Crazyshakes on the way home?”

Raphie’s not stupid, but he has three very significant blind spots, and they’re all little-brother-shaped. He softens completely and lifts Mikey up to sit in place of pride on his shoulders, tall enough to see all of Manhattan. Then he passes up his phone, even though Mikey totally would have ordered the shakes on his!

He’ll never not complain about being one of the babies, but he has to admit—just to himself, in secret—that there are definitely some perks. 

“Make sure you get that shortcake one for Leon,” Raphie says offhandedly. “He’s been on a strawberry kick recently.”

Part of Mikey wants to roll his eyes at this additional bit of proof that Donnie is constantly right about everything. The much larger part of him just feels warm and sweet and cared for.

He wraps his arm around Raph’s head and squeezes, as much of a hug as he can manage with the phone in one hand and the other in a cast, and adds all four of their favorites to the order. The twins’ argument bounces off the alley walls around them, both of them on the verge of laughter by now and trying not to be the one who breaks first.

Mikey normally isn’t very fond of rainy days, but this one he wouldn’t mind living in. 

[fullofgutsndopamine]

Just A Spark (Gonna Let It Happen)

Or: five times hasan helped you + 1 the one time you helped him

feat: fire fighter hasan

tw: mention of drinking, cursing, mention of ptsd/trauma

thanks to the wonderful @the-phantom-author for letting me run with their idea. @medlarmeadows and @abadarkade for their wonderful suggestions and always offering ideas when i run out

more hasan here

one. first encounter

sometimes, when the thick blanket of night falls in the room, hits his eyes even though they’re blocked by his arm-he wonders exactly what he did wrong in a past life to be here.

he isn’t sure if he believes in that past life bullshit; people with cards and stars that tell him he looked at someone the wrong way, years ago, in a different lifetime, landed him here- but fuck, he did something wrong.

it’s the steady beep of a half broken fire alarm that makes an eye snap up. it’s ironic, or something, that the fire stations fire alarm would be broken, but he can’t find himself caring enough to pull up a chair, find the screwdriver, to care long enough to do something for it.

instead, he lays with his forearm over his eyes, counts the seconds in between the beeps, find the peace in the lull between the five seconds.

there’s parties to go to; things he could make himself do-instead, he lays in a twin sized mattress that lightly reeks of a delicate mixture of body odor and oil.

Last nights call plays in his head: what was suppose to be a harmless call for a ninety year old-the flash of fear in her eyes when he gets there, holding her hand and promising her it’ll be okay-

he sits up and flips the pillow over to the cooler side, hopes that makes a difference, tries to face the wall and count the markings that line the wall.

An alarm blares over head.

he wonders if he squeezes his eyes shut long enough, picks the sides of the pillow up and slams it into his ears. instead, he sits up with a sigh, pulls his shoes up and says a hail mary to whatever supernatural powers be, wills it to be better.

The engine starts up, James, his partner forever, hops into the seat next to him and they’re off.

Three streets away in a yard only lit up by a fire, you find yourself borderline pacing.

The coughing didn’t bother you. At least, not at first.

The bonfire started hours ago, before the sun had set, hiding behind clouds and dipping in and out of them, as if it was an elaborate game of hide and seek that you were losing badly.

The coughing was almost expected. Peter and Paul, the two idiots together, disappeared off an hour ago with a large container of gasoline and a glint in their eye that you didn’t fully trust-honestly, you were surprised it took this long for it to catch up with you.

“Dude,” someone, you think his name is Scott, a friend of a friend, speaks up: “The first cough is whatever. The second? Sure. but the third? Can you please get it together?”

It’s dramatic.

an anxious habit, your hands go to the side of your hand, nail to your head to scratch at an invisible itch.

"Hey," Scott says in-between the coughs, scratches at his throat, "what's in these brownies anyways?"

Peter speaks up: "Nothing ground breaking. A family recipe-"

"Oh, please," Ava snorts, "Is the family recipe from a box found at Meijer's?"

"Fuck off, you're disrespecting my dead Nana," Peter puffs his chest out, "Who's dead, by the way, you sick fuck-"

"Guys," Scott is borderline wheezing, "The brownies?"

Peter rolls his eyes, "Oil, mix.." He ticks them off on his fingers, "Oh, I added some chopped walnuts in, to spice them up-"

"Stop trying to make 'spice them up' happen. Your Nana did not say that."

"Walnuts?" his eyes go wide, "I'm allergic-"

it's a blur after that. Yelling, running around, phone calls with fingers shoved in their ears to block out the noise, frantic googling that yielded no results

Honestly, the first thought you had when you saw him was relief. you wonder if that's what he's use to; the guardian angel status, the way he walks into a room with authority, like nothing actually scares him

Ava walks next to him, although it's less walking and more running, trying to run to keep up with his strides

You have Scott leaning against a dead tree trunk, his shirt ripped off in a panic, his hand on his throat as if he could scratch the itch out-your hand rests over his, your face close to him as you try to talk him off an invisible ledge.

"You're going to be fine," You're saying, trying to convince yourself, more than anything, "by tomorrow this is going to be a funny memory we'll all look back at-"

Hasan recognizes this-knows that it's you more panicked than him, and he realizes how out of his element he is-needs to rescue a cat in a tree, reset a fire alarm-

EMS comes in first, breaks up the two of you-you take the hint, inch further away so you're not in the way, but can still hear what’s going on-if he’ll make it.

“Hey.”

your head whips up. eyes stinging, didn’t realize you were crying until the familiar pinch came.

“Hey,” you shake your head, “sorry. Am i in the way?”

The taller man shrugs, “he’s good. James got him, too.”

He studies you for a second.

“are you okay?”

before you can answer stuff is flying from his belt; a smaller pack hits by your feet, a walkie talkie inches from your toes-

he plops down next to you with a groan, like that took a lot out of him.

Panic looms. blooms in your chest, fills it, threatens to take over-

“here.”

he digs in his jeans and pulls out a caramel candy, holds it by the wrapper.

“isn’t that an old man candy?”

you sniffle but a shaky hand reaches out, grabs it and unwraps it.

“it’s Hasan, by the way.” the man says gently, eyes downcast as he unwraps his own, “and it’s not.”

finally some comfort, the rise of panic crashing like a wave in your chest as it retreats for now.

“Hasan the old man,” you settle on, “got it.”

two

"You've got to be kidding me."

Hasan chomps on gum as if he doesn't have a care in the world

"I know the medical emergency was a little above your pay grade," You hope your voice doesn't come out as shaky as it feels, "So I figured saving my cat would be more up your alley."

He snorts, rolls his eyes as he cranes his neck to look up the tree.

"What's it's name?"

"My name?" You scratch at your neck, not sure how this is relevant but if it saves your cat-

"No," hasan says slowly, "The cat-"

"Oh."

You hope he doesn't see the rising red splash across your face

"Tomato," You clear your throat, "Tomato is the asshole who thought it was a good idea to climb a tree at five in the morning when i have an interbiew in an hour and my hair is still wet-"

and my hair is still wet- your hand flies to your head, where a towel is still damp and wrapped around your head, stained and worn with age-past hair colors stained and marked the towel up

"Hey,"

Hasan's voice brings you down, crashes you back to earth. Instead of the rising heat on your face and the worried roar in your head, your back in your front yard. Hasan stands in front of you-a too tight uniform shirt across his chest, stained, a mop of curly hair and a constellation of freckles across his face.

wide eyed, looking at you, his hands on either side of your arms:

“you’re fine,” he’s saying, “Tomato is fine. i’ll get her down in time.” he hesitates for a second, considers the weight behind it, “i promise.”

he turns to the tree before you can see him flustered:

“what a fucking stereotype,” he sighs, calls over his shoulder, his shoulders already aching from the work out he’s about to get: “got a ladder?”

there’s a quick fight between you two (“just tell me where the ladder is“ “you’re going to save tomato! you can’t carry the ladder too!”) before he throws his hands up and makes his way to the small shed in the corner of the yard, ignoring you, all but marching back to the scene of the crime.

“can you hold the ladder?” he says gently, before a smile paints across his face, “can you handle that much?”

the bastard is smirking now. in the sunlight his freckles are more pronounced, can trace the lines of them on his face.

“shouldn’t you have someone with you?” you’re calling up gently as he scales up a ladder. he’s clicking his tongue as he does so.

he doesn’t answer:

“i fucking hate cats,” he’s saying instead, “murderous, ungrateful bastards-“

his fingers reach out at the branch, so close to touching Tomatoes tail-he hisses, climbs up another branch.

“I don’t think he likes me.” Hasan huffs, scaling the tree higher

“can you blame him?” Nibbling fingernails, “some scary man is climbing up a ladder and invading his space-“

“handsome?”

head titled back as he slowly climbs the ladder, “what?”

“a handsome man, i assume you said,” hasan continues, silence for a second before there’s light rustling; a branch falls, a bundle of leaves-you’re about to ask if he’s okay before he retreats back, an orange bundle under his arm, meowing and yelling at him as he carefully climbs down. Heavy gear clatters around him, and you worry about it falling off of him for a second

once his feet are down he continues:

“a handsome man,” he finishes, “who rescued your cat, right?”

silence

“right?”

“thank you, hasan.”

three

you run through the list in your head: eggs, milk, loaf of bread-

music seems to blare around you. wraps around you, makes your head pound-your only plan to try and get out as quickly as you can.

Faces pass; none familiar, all just as frantic and busy as you are-

cans of soup- your eyes scan the shelves, falls on the familiar red branding-fingers reach out, almost grasp it-fall

again.

reach, fingers brush against it-push it back a little further.

“mother fucker-“

“need help?”

the voice is familiar. too familiar. your eyes narrow, back still to them.

“i think you need me at this point,” the voice is almost gleeful, “should just follow you round to help-what is it? chicken noodle? you look like a chicken noodle soup enjoyer”

“it’s tomato.” you grumble unhappily.

“tomato?” he turns around, head over his shoulder, “hmm.”

he looks tired. bags under his eyes, hair a million different directions, shirt is untucked and stained-a pen cap is hanging on for dear life at the neck of a stretched out shirt.

“shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“shouldn’t you be calling the fire department for something?”

“awe,” you finally smile, snatching the can, “you do miss my calls-“

“when they see your number they automatically dispatch me to you. you’re a liability.”

you reach for the can but he holds it higher in the air, a smirk creeps on his face:

“what do you say?”

a huff, “please?” you try, “pretty please?”

he rolls his eyes: “there’s no way you think that’s what i want.”

“who’s your favorite fire fighter?”

“what’s your partners name? Rob? He is-“

he huffs, turns his back to you and sets the can back on the shelf, his fingers still brush against the can as he hums like he’s considering his own soup options-

“hasan, please. my chili depends on you-“

he ignores you, still humming, as you pull on his shirt:

“you’re my favorite firefighter,” you find yourself saying, “it hurts to say that.”

he turns around, hands you the can: “was that so hard?”

four

weeks pass. with job deadlines on the horizon, your apartment all but falling apart-it’s easy to forget about about anyone else.

sleep finally finds you. a cold side of the pillow, eyes finally shut-

a fire alarm blares that makes you shoot out of bed. tomato lays at your feet, grabbing him, running outside to the yard, sweater long forgotten.

by the time you’re at the yard, you can at least see the building isn’t burning up. in fact, you can’t see anything. you weigh your options for a second, considering ignoring the blaring fire alarms before you hear the fire truck and groan, knowing what’s coming up, knowing who’s around the corner.

the second the car parks everyone is running out, talking into walkie talkies-

“is this you?” hasan calls as he jogs past you, “you’re an arsonist at this point-“

you go to yell back and he’s gone.

an hour later he appears. his hair is disheveled, his shoulders slump. he walks next to his partners, something in his hand-

“if you need cooking lessons, i volunteer,” hasan says, “i can teach you how to fucking make ramen-“

“why do you assume that i’m behind all bad things that happen here?”

“your track record doesn’t help,” he says, “to begin with. and this has your name written all over it. please,” he stops, drops the pan and claps his hands together as if begging: “let me teach you how to cook.”

“it wasn’t fucking me!”

his eyes narrow: “Please. no one believe you-“

“you’re a dick. don’t you have a donut to eat? or-“

“that’s police officers, idiot.” he huffs, “and fuck them, anyways. look-“

he stops, leans into you, “i know just the place. i’ll teach you-“

“you aren’t teaching me how to cook! and it’s not me!”

“fine,” his eyes narrow, “but the next call here, if it’s yours, i take you to a cooking class-“

“what-“

“even if it isn’t your call. you owe me a date.”

his hand outstretched to you: “a deals a deal-“

“what’s in it for me?”

“i’ll leave you alone.”

you groan, knowing that’s not going to happen. sunrise threatens to fall over the horizon, and you know he won’t give up anytime soon-

your hand falls into his-larger and calloused-slips into his like a missing puzzle piece, like a perfect piece-

“it’s a deal.”

five

look, this isn’t bribing.

but after your fourth call to your apartment this month, you figured you at least owed them something for coming out-even if they somehow always sent just Hasan out-

you couldn’t sleep, anyways. or at least, that’s your excuse. the tray of baked goods threatens to fall out of the seat any second.

The door to the station is open, all the workers walking around, half suspenders down, shirts untucked, plates of food half eaten-

you couldn’t find your guy in the line up,is your first thought. before you quickly shake your head, trying to get that idea out as quickly as it came. he isn’t your guy. if anything, he’s the pain in the ass who keeps saving your ass-

putting the car in park, saying a prayer before grabbing the plate and walking in, hoping you look more confident than you feel.

“Well,” one of the firefighter smirks as you show up, “have any batteries that need to be changed?” he teases, “or is cilantro in trouble? hasan hasn’t shut up-“

“it’s tomato,” hasan appears behind him, “i know my mortal enemies name.”

“look what the cat dragged in-“

“it’s almost like you’re at the place where i work. imagine that-“

“i made brownies.”

the guy next to him immediately perks up, grabs the plate and pulls back tinfoil: “thank you!”

hasan stops him before he can run off, grabs a brownie before he can leave, eyes it as you stand in front of him.

“so,” he says, “what’s the trick with this? i don’t have any allergies-“

“damn. nut allergies are the most common allergies. i thought that’s how i could take you out-“

“and they aren’t burned-“

“that wasn’t me with the ramen, you dick.”

“these look good.”

“always the tone of surprise,” you roll your eyes, “most people would say thank you.”

“why would i say thank you before I’m potentially poisoned?”

“you’re insufferable.”

“here,” he smirks, “you take the first bite.”

“i’m not hungry-“

“that’s exactly what someone who poisoned food would say to get out to eating it.”

“you’re a dick, give it to me.”

“ah,” he says instead when you reach for it, his hand still on the brownie as he leans forward, a hand cupped under your mouth as he goes to feed you the bite.

“this is outrageous,” you roll your eyes as pink rises up, but don’t put up more of a fight as it makes contact, as you bite off, “it’s delicious”

he watches you carefully as you chew

“see?” you roll your eyes: “now you.”

“eh?” he shrugs, “i don’t know how hungry i am-“

you gasp and he giggles, before shoving it in his mouth:

“not bad.” he settles on.

+1

“if you’re looking for your guy, he called in sick.”

you aren’t proud of the fact that they know who you’re really here for, and less that you know the man who yelled that-Michael-will proudly tell hasan that.

“what?” you tease, “the big baby can’t handle a little bit of a cold?”

he snorts: “he did the kids fire safety at the elementary school this week-he blames them.”

“what a baby.”

you try and make polite small talk. they’re all fine-the entire time, thinking of the plan you’re already cooking in your head.

everyone knows where he lives. the house was famous before the newest fire fighter bought it (and when you’re in a small town like this, a new guy on the team is a big deal, gets around) and in the center of town, you pass it every day on your way to and from work: seeing him leave in the morning, at night, still in his uniform, shirt untucked and wrinkly as he moves around his front yard: tends to the garden on the side of the house (looks like he’s very proud of his herbs he’s growing, at least) hunched over as he flicks his tongue and has a small ceramic bowl of kibble for the gang of cats that seem attached to him-

a quick stop at the only grocery store in town, the paper bag of groceries on your lap, your stomach bubbles and bursts as you worry your lip about this-

you park the car and find yourself in front of his house before you can talk yourself out of it.

tapping your foot, waiting for him to answer-

“hullo?”

he still looks good, even sick.

glasses crooked on his face, his hair a mess, the tip of his nose is red, lines over his freckles from a pillow-

he groans. stands in the doorway, his hand against the doorframe.

“i’m off duty,” he tries, “you’ll have to put out your own fire-“

“heard the kids made you sick,” you say instead, ruffling through the plastic bag on your wrist, “nothing ramen can’t help.”

“ramen?” he laughs, “like-“

“it wasn’t me!” you insist, can feel your heart thump in your ears, “let me redeem myself; make you some soup.”

“i can’t call the fire department-“

“if i start a fire i’ll put it out myself, i promise.”

he laughs: “i guess i’d like to see that.”

comfortable silence for a second.

“so?” you push, “the soup?”

his eyes narrow for a second before his hand slowly slides up the doorframe, an invitation in-you duck and act like you can’t see the smile light up his face

[tomicscomics]

12/22/2023

Hail-lelujah!

___

JOKE-OGRAPHY: The angel Gabriel says, "Hail, Mary," when he meets Mary for the first time.  In the original Bible story, this phrase is a greeting ("hail" means "hello" or "salutations").  In this cartoon, however, Gabriel's signature catchphrase is instead used to answer Mary's question about the weather ("hail" can also mean "frozen rain").  You might be worried that Mary will get hit by more hail if she doesn't get inside, but I assure you that's nothing compared to the mix of compliments and life-changing revelations Gabriel's about to shower her with. AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is yet another Tomics Resurrection, where I've taken an old cartoon -- so old that it was stored on a cassette tape -- and remastered it, quite masterfully.  See the original below.  You'll notice Gabriel is dressed in black, which I originally thought would contrast well with his wings.  I was technically correct, but not spiritually so.  Meanwhile, Mary has a veil that covers her whole head.  Ah'uh'nuh what kinda hats they had in the Bible days, but this one was hard to draw when she moved her head, so I destroyed it, as I do all things which displease me.

[thesherrinfordfacility]

Source

Transcript of main article under the cut:

THE RASCALLY DEMON Crowley (David Tennant) and the neurotic angel Aziraphale (Michael Sheen) put aside their differences to pull off one doozy of a Hail Mary and prevent an impending Apocalypse in Good Omens' first season. The task cemented the pair's unconventional friendship. So what are divine beings who have fallen out of grace with both Heaven and Hell to do for an encore?

The answer lies with archangel Gabriel (Jon Hamm), who shows up unannounced on the doorstep of Aziraphale's London bookshop. Suddenly, Aziraphale and Crowley are caught up in a caper of biblical proportions- but also a more intimate tale.

"It's a mystery" showrunner Neil Gaiman tells SFX. "It kicks off a story that doesn't have giant consequences for the universe, even if it does have consequences for Aziraphale and Crowley. We have a lot of the marvellous Jon Hamm, who is the angel Gabriel and turns up at the beginning stark naked, carrying a cardboard box with no memory of who he is. In the same way, it is about Aziraphale and Crowley having to get involved with humanity in a way that they haven't before.

"They get dragged in slightly against their will to try to sort out the love life of Aziraphale's tenant," he continues. "Her name is Maggie (Maggie Service) and she runs the

record shop next to the bookshop. You'll see the coffee shop over the road, which is Nina's (Nina Sosanya). The relationship between Maggie and Nina is one that Crowley and Aziraphale try to fix, and mess up, because they are not good at human relationships, even if they can do miracles."

Truth be told, Gaiman never originally intended this arc to serve as Good Omens' second instalment. The TV series was based on Gaiman and Terry Pratchett's 1990 novel. The two collaborators had partially hashed out the details for a sequel to the fantasy comedy, late one night in a hotel room. This, however, is not it. Gaiman instead plotted a new narrative that could provide the connective tissue between the first season and a theoretical season three, if it happens.

"Because the hypothetical season three exists, there is a story that is there, and I didn't feel that we could drive straight from season one into that," Gaiman explains. "I knew what the stakes were. I knew what the parameters were. I also know that I had David and Michael. I had the angels from plot number one. I had demons from plot number one. And with anybody that I wanted to bring back, but didn't have room for right now, I did not have to bring them back as themselves.

"I had absolutely nothing for Madame Tracy to do in this plot, but I would be damned if Miranda Richardson wasn't going to be in this. She is one of my favourite people in the world. She is hilarious and is so good. And I knew I was going to have a new demon replacing Crowley as Hell's representative in London/the UK. Miranda's demon Shax is the best demon you could want."

It's late February 2012 and SFX is in Edinburgh for a set visit. A soundstage in Pyramids Studies has been transformed into a street in Soho. The visible local stores include the aforementioned book, coffee and record shops, as well as a magic establishment. In the middle of them all stand Aziraphale and Crowley, the latter in close proximity to his classic Bentley. It's close to the end of the six-episode season, so exactly what the duo is discussing constitutes a spoiler. We can say, however, that Aziraphale has picked up the pace. Time is of the essence as Shax marshals her forces to descend on Aziraphale's store and retrieve Gabriel.

"This is really Shax's first time out on Earth," Gaiman explains. "She is working very diligently and very hard in Hell for a long time. Now she is on Earth, trying to figure it all out. She's just discovering what Crowley has known for 6,000 years, which is that if you're a demon and come up with a brilliant plan to screw up the lives of humanity, people will get there first and do worse than anything you could have imagined! She's coming to terms with that.

"She is having to deal with the first crisis on her watch, as well, which is the disappearance of the archangel Gabriel from Heaven. It would be fair to say that by the end of the story, she is leading as much as she can get from Hell's requisition department - a legion of Hell - in an attack on a Soho bookshop."

When audiences catch up with Aziraphale again, he's enjoying his time among humans. He owns most of the block in a Soho neighbourhood, and he's meddling in Nina's love life. Meanwhile, Crowley has been living in his car, with his plants sitting on the back seat. He's grumpy about his current status quo, but frequently hangs out at Aziraphale's. The duo began as antagonists, but their history and blooming relationship will be fleshed out in flashbacks.

"One of the enormously fun things I came up with in the idea of minisodes," Gaiman explains. They are 25-minute-long episodes within the episode. We have three of them over our six episodes. Each of them is like one of those chunks of episode three (in season one). Whereas the longest one of those was four or five minutes, if that, these are full stories.

"You get to have the story of (put-upon Biblical figure) Job and you learn Aziraphale and Crowley's part in the story. Then writer Cat Clarke takes us to Edinburgh in the 1820s for a tale of body-snatching and attempted murder that the boys get involved in," he adds.

"Finally, Jeremy Dyson and Andy Nyman reunite the League of Gentlemen in a Nazi-period story that takes place very shortly after the episode in the church. That one was the only one I said had to be there, because I fell in love with our Nazi spies in the church I kept thinking, "What would happen if they essentially came back as zombies with a mission from Hell to try and investigate whether or not Crowley and Aziraphale were actually fraternising?"

Gaiman admits that one of the greatest challenges has been filming Good Omens simultaneously with his upcoming show Anansi Bays. The two shoot within throwing distance of each other, but are both time-consuming endeavours.

"If I could go back in time, I would go back to 16 September 2020, when Douglas Mackinnon (co-producer) and I got the phone call from the Amazon bigwigs to say, "We have

good news for you and interesting news for you," Gaiman recalls. "'The good news is we are greenlighting both Good Omens and Anansi Boys. The interesting news is you are going to have to do them both at the same time.'

"I would go back to then and I would throw myself on the call and say, 'Neil, don't! This is unwise.' That we are doing them both together is great. The amount of sleep I am not getting is monumental and monstrous.

"It's a little bit like childbirth, in that I managed to forget all the things that drove me nuts about the first one. Having said that, I managed to fix all the things that really drove me nuts making season one which is great. We just have a whole new set of problems making season two."

[calaisreno]

Imagine

1024 words / Prompt: Empty

Let’s say it didn’t happen that way. Instead, let’s say John looks up a moment sooner, and sees Sherlock approaching. He has a minute to process what he sees instead of realising it later, when the waiter is rambling on about vintages and stranger’s gazes….

Maybe he’s just had a thought about Sherlock, about how he wouldn’t be sitting here with a ring box if Sherlock hadn’t died. He might be a bit sad, trying to buoy himself up to smile when Mary returns, and he looks up to check whether she’s on the stairs yet— and he sees Sherlock instead.

And Sherlock— let’s say he’s had a giddy thought about pretending to be a waiter, but now he’s seen John’s face and isn’t sure what to do. He’s come through the door, and the headwaiter’s phone is buzzing, and he’s just staring at John. 

Maybe John thinks it’s an hallucination. Maybe he’s seen Sherlock (ghost? Vision? Hallucination?) before now— across a crowded street, disappearing into a Tesco or coming up from the underground. Maybe he’s heard that voice. (Sitting in his chair one evening, a voice drifts up from the street below— he can’t even make out words, but he knows. By the time he’s out the front door, looking around, wild-eyed, there is no Sherlock in sight.)

He listens, always.

He’s not good at deducing things like this, but when he sees Sherlock, he might notice something, a detail he wouldn’t have imagined. He looks tired, thin, sad. Not the way John usually remembers him. 

If John tries to remember him, it’s always with his coat swirling, his collar popped, his hair a bit windblown. It’s the Sherlock who gives him that smile, the one he reserves for John, who has no idea what it means. But he knows that it’s only for him. 

Let’s say that here and now, on the edge of this knife, about to change his whole life, giving it to a woman who has been good to him, saved him from drowning in grief— let’s say that when he sees Sherlock, he realises that he’s not certain. 

Maybe he doesn’t really love her. They could get married and he’d learn to love her. But she might grow tired of him, impatient if he keeps talking about Sherlock, or even silently missing him. He should be over that by now. 

Maybe she isn’t who she seems to be. He wonders what Sherlock would deduce if he got a look at her. 

He wonders if he wants to know.

Let’s say that Sherlock, when he sees John’s awful moustache, realises that it’s too late, that John has moved on. He’s had this thought before, if he’s honest with himself. He got careless in Serbia because he kept thinking two years, two years, too long... 

He’s looking at John and he’s suddenly ashamed. Never ashamed that he loves John, but ashamed that he never said, that it was always something he put off saying because he had calculated the possibility of John loving Sherlock at nil. Even if he once might have been open to that (unattached, like me…), how could John love Sherlock now, when he’s grieved for two years, believing a lie that Sherlock orchestrated? John is alive, and that’s all he wanted. What he wants now, he sees he can’t have, and he’s ashamed. 

His face flushing, he turns back the way he came in, pushes past several people waiting to be seated. He flees the look on John’s face. He’s mortified that he came here, thinking he’d make John laugh, see him smile, and sweep him away, back to Baker Street. 

He’s got on with his life.

Outside, he stands on the pavement, deleting the happy scene he’d imagined. 

Is that sentiment talking?

Everything will be different now from what he’s imagined. He might hail a taxi and go home— 

But it isn’t home now. It’s an empty house, without John. 

Imagine John now, seeing the hallucination turn away, exit the restaurant. He doesn’t think about Mary or the ring or what he’s going to say to her. He stands, stumbles away from the table, then runs towards the door. 

He sees him from the back— a tall man wearing a dark coat, the collar up, curly dark hair. His head is bowed, his shoulders slumped. 

It can’t be. 

But at this moment, before he takes another step into a new life, he’d rather make a fool of himself than dismiss the possibility that it could be him. 

One more miracle, for me.

If anyone could be that clever, fake his own death, and return—

Sherlock raises his head, gathering himself for what’s next. There is no solution. He can’t go back, so he must go forward. He’ll see John at some point, and he’ll apologise. If he’s lucky, John will accept his explanation. But they’re in different timelines now: John moving into the future, Sherlock stuck in the past. 

He raises his hand to hail a cab. 

Imagine: a hand on his back, tentative, trembling.“Sherlock?”

Imagine: the face he always looks for, the voice he still hears. “John?”

Let’s say it happens this way. 

John doesn’t hit Sherlock. He falls into the arms that are already open to receive him. He weeps. He curses. He laughs. And weeps some more. 

Sherlock doesn’t make fun of John’s moustache. He doesn’t make a joke about tuxedos, or say, short version, not dead. Instead, he reaches for John, saying, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… 

John forgets about Mary. He hugs Sherlock.

When Sherlock asks, “Your date?” John hits his forehead, pulls out his phone and sends a text. Something’s come up. I’m sorry. We’ll talk tomorrow.

John forgets about Mary, again. He looks up at Sherlock, who is smiling now, giving him that look, the one that’s only for him. 

Sherlock can’t let go. He’s not sure what comes next, but he’s less afraid now, and maybe he can finally say it. 

John remembers every time he went to Sherlock’s grave, never able to say it. 

“I love you.”

Let’s say it happens like that. 

[st-danger]

I'm begging u, LITERALLY BEGGING U,

I need quintosis daddy Aether/Swiss. Mayb wreck Swiss a lil, at your discretion, but like Aether's still a sweetheart, ykwim?

I am desperate. Please.

Aether kisses him and Swiss feels the quintessence bloom within, a pleasurable glow that starts in his stomach and rapidly branches out, as if carried by his blood. He can't help but to moan, a noise Aether licks, and Swiss feels the tingling, intense and so good from his ears to his toes. He arches up against Aether, trapped between him and the many blankets that cover Aether's bed, and lets the sedation claim him. Were he still clothed, he would be begging to be stripped now; his skin is wildly sensitive, every nerve singing in the nicest way possible, every point of connection he makes with Aether lying on top of him, with the bed-

He throbs against Aether's belly, and hears him huff a laugh through the fog that encompasses his brain. He can't even raise his arms, which lay splayed out beside him.

"What do you think?" Aether asks, like he doesn't know.

"Unholyshit," Swiss slurs, stumbling over the words. His tongue feels thick in his mouth. He feels useless. He feels like he could cum right now, if Aether would let him. Aether shifts above him, pushing himself up, and the loss that comes with the movement actually makes Swiss sad. He can't remember the last time he's felt so needy.

"Hang on," Aether says, amused, smiling down at him with that sweet look that gives away how utterly besotted he is, eyes crinkling in the corners. "Can I suck you like this? Is that okay?"

Swiss nods, gathering strength enough to tilt his head up so he can watch Aether spread his legs to make space for him. To watch him lie between them. Aether wraps his fingers around Swiss's thick cock, and he expects to see and feel pretty lips closing around the head, but what he gets instead is Aether nuzzling his sack, and then drawing his tongue over his balls.

It's agony he couldn't possibly have prepared himself for.

He tries to swear, to form anything resembling a real word, but all he manages is noise, a low groan pulled from the very pit of his stomach, his abs clenching.

"You're so hard," Aether murmurs, and Swiss notes the pleased tone, the pink cresting on Aether's cheeks, right before his head hits the pillow again, pressing into the soft down. "Dick's so pretty like this."

"Please," Swiss begs. "Suck me, unholy fuck."

He can't bear to look when he feels lips brush against the head, pressing a sweet kiss to the tip.

"Can you say it? And I will," Aether promises, sounding almost shy. "I'll suck it as long as you want, I'll make you cry."

Swiss would say absolutely anything right now. He'd recite the Lord's Prayer, say a Hail Mary or five if that's what gets him inside that hot mouth. Under different circumstances, if he wasn't so narcotized on the magick Aether has drenched him with, he might find it funny. Goofy.

"Daddy," Swiss manages, summoning the willpower to clutch at the bedspread. Aether makes a small noise.

"Oh," he whispers. "Yeah, daddy's here. Gonna make you feel so good."

[tojisun]

hi sun! I sent another ask but it never really got to you because of my shitty internet and if it did I’m sorry for repeating it,,, 😿🙏

but in that other ask I said that the nun!reader x Simon story has so much angst potential!!! my brain dumb so i didn’t really understand if it was one sided? But I couldn’t stop thinking about reader slowly getting feelings for Simon and feeling incredibly bad for that, distancing herself and stuff, yeah…

anyways I love you tysm for what you write

hi!! im so sorry if it happened to be sent and i havent replied, ive been bouncing around sm ideas that i havent had time to answer reqs/qs! thank you so much for your patience and thank you so much for the luv 🥹🫶🏼

ur absolutely right!! nun!reader x simon has a lot of angst potential <33 it’s one of the many reasons why i love it so much

and it is one-sided, yes.

all of the story is told in simon’s pov so we see the way he sees her and the way he longs for her. i do apologize for the confusion because i’ve written about two fics of simon actively hallucinating the reader liking him back which might’ve led to the assumption that the reader actually does, but no she doesn’t!

one of the things that makes the series so special to me is that it is a tragedy; it will never have a happy ending nor any semblance of a hopeful ending (i.e. ambiguous ending but one that hints that the reader likes simon back). it will all end with simon chasing pieces of her through prayers and gospels and sunday masses.

i have toyed with the idea though, and it is so similar to your own—

cw: religious themes of course, f!reader

the idea of the reader whose devotion for the lord runs deep; before loving herself, before loving her family, it’s always him. but then simon comes.

simon who’s broken and hurt and angry; whose eyes are always clouded with fear, so vast she feels it rattling her own bones. simon who seeks for her voice and her touch and her prayers on his times of need, and who is she not to help this lost lamb find his way back to the lord?

well, she stumbles along the way. she finds herself trapped, her mind pushing past the walls of her fortitude. she finds her eyes straying, glossing over the wooden cross to flit to simon’s… body.

he is big. he is scarred and battle-worn. he is beautiful.

he is almost…divine.

she is shaken awake by the warping guilt that engulfed her and she throws out excuses before leaving him there, in the chapel, before locking herself in her room to pray.

her hands are trembling as she goes over her rosary once, twice, three times—

(hail mary, full of grace…

she thinks of his thick arms crossing over his sturdy chest. she thinks of the way he tipped his head down, his eyes meeting hers.

the lord is with thee…

she thinks of how his scarred jaw trembled. how his crooked nose flared.

blessed art thou amongst women…

she thinks of his plea, “i need your help.”

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, jesus…

she thinks of his desperation, “help me repent.”)

—but it is all futile. not even her prayers can banish simon from her thoughts. from her desires.

she cries that night, begging for forgiveness. begging that the lord grant mercy to her, for she have made the grave error of falling in love. she muddled her duties with her desires, so how could she help simon find the lord? how could she help simon find peace?

she asks for a relocation, and not even the head priest could deter her decision. it is granted to her ten days later. she couldn’t even say goodbye to simon because he away for a mission in latvia.

so instead, she leaves this chapel with one last prayer for him; with one last glance at the altar where her beloved had asked her for a dance, under the watchful eye of the lord. she tries her best not to weep for what is lost.

because she knows she has ruined it all.

.

simon finds her. he will always find her.

[sexhaver]

competitive Melee is a deeply inherently funny esport mostly because of Mang0. at his peak he would spend the days leading up to a tourney shit-talking on SmashBoards, then show up slam dunk drunk and win the entire bracket in the most disrespectful way possible. two specific disrespectful moments stand out:

Mang0 (Fox) vs SFAT (Marth) (skip to 3:25 if the timestamp doesn't work)

it's game 1 of a best of 3 set. Mang0 is at 4 stocks, while SFAT is already down to 2 and getting actively combo'd. someone in the audience, as a joke, shouts out "use the laser!". for context:

Falco's laser is one of the best projectiles in the game because it does hitstun, meaning it can interrupt enemies out of their attacks

however, Mang0 is playing Fox, not Falco. Fox's laser is mostly like Falco's, except instead of being good, it is not good. Fox's laser has absolutely 0 hitstun and takes a while to pull out and shoot. this means pretty much the only time it gets used in competitive play is to spam it during the neutral to hopefully rack up some damage without actually interrupting anything

not only is shooting SFAT with the laser while he's offstage a suboptimal choice, it gets even funnier when you realize that the obvious combo finisher anyone else would use there is Shine. Fox's shine comes out on literally frame 1, gives him intangibility, sends the enemy sideways in a way that's basically impossible to recover from offstage, and can be jump canceled on frame 2. Shine is not just the best move to use in this specific instance, it's not just Fox's best move, it's not just the best move in Melee, it is arguably the strongest move on any character in any fighting game ever made.

so of course Mang0 uses the laser instead of shining. the crowd goes apeshit, he finishes off SFAT's last remaining stocks in literally 15 seconds (demonstrating the actual power of Shine on the final stock). even though it's game 1 and he can theoretically make a comeback, SFAT is so humiliated by this that he literally just unplugs his controller and walks off stage. also this was during the era when Melee wasn't being streamed to a huge audience or sponsored or anything so the casters just said whatever the fuck they wanted, which gave us gems like "UNPLUG YOUR CONTROLLER, DAWG! FORFEIT!" and "WOMBO COMBO!!!!"

Mang0 (Jigglypuff with crown) vs HungryBox (Jigglypuff with headband) (relevant bit starts at 2:31)

for full context, Mang0 (along with most of the rest of the Smash community) and HungryBox had had a shitload of beef in the years leading up to this match. HBox famously used/still uses Jigglypuff, which pissed/pisses off other players because that playstyle is infuriating to face off against. you either get hit with rising aerial Pound 20 times in a row offstage or upthrown into a frametrap rest for instakills starting at 30%. because he is a deeply funny person, Mang0, of course, also chose Jigglypuff. he then proceeds to mop the fucking floor with HBox. the entire set is brutal but the bit i highlighted is the worst by far. HBox is down a stock and goes for a Hail Mary up-tilt into Rest combo. it might have worked if Mang0 was a bit more damaged and stayed in hitstun longer, but it misses. missing a Rest with Jigglypuff is an invitation for the opponent to use their strongest possible move/combo for free in any matchup, but it's probably the worst in the mirror match* because the other Jigglypuff can just Rest you right back for free. which is what Mang0 should have done here if he wanted to win.

instead, he just. jabs HBox. doing no damage or knockback and waking him up for free.

comparing the audience reaction from this match to the previous one is so fucking funny, because with the former, you could hear everyone laughing and losing their shit, but this is just... a collective gasp at Mang0's audacity. the commentators are struck dumb for a few seconds before saying "Mang0. that's disrespectful to everyone. to HungryBox. to me. to you..." before being interrupted by HungryBox killing himself to end the match and walk away

*yes, I know Roy can reverse his up-B on frame 1 to kill sleeping Jigglypuff from 0% on Pokemon Stadium. however, if you know this factoid, you also know that Roy is literally never used in competitive because he is Marth but with all the good traits replaced with bad ones, so stop being a smartass

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 5 - Catholic Character Tournament

Propaganda below ⬇️

Pope Pinion IV (Cars)

HELLO. IT IS I. THE GREAT AND ALMIGHTY ITALIAN TOURNEY. PLEASEPLEASE PUT HIM IN THERE WAS SO MUCH POPE DISCOURSE ON MY ACC AND HE WAS SOLOED IN THE FIRST ROUND BY LUIGI😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 PLEASE AVENGE HIMMMM

The existence of Catholicism in the Cars universe implies that there was (or at least there was believed to be) a car Jesus who died for the cars’ sins, and I for one would like to see how a car gets crucified or sins. I guess the blood/wine here would be gasoline, but what would the body/bread be? How did they sit at the last supper? What is the layout of car church? How does a car build a church? Do other human religions exist in the cars universe? How does a goddess with the body of a human and the head of a cat translate to a car? Do Buddhist cars rein-car-nate? Do cars have souls?

he lost the italian character tournament, he will win here

Harrowhark

I'm pretty sure you've already got plenty of submissions for her so I'll just say she was raised in what is basically a cult (technically a nunnery but let's be real) dedicated to keeping the body of the thing that will kill God behind the rock. One of their prayers is actually "I pray the rock is never rolled away". Harrow is extremely devout as penance for her earlier heretical actions in the tomb as a child (spoiler!) so the Catholic guilt really comes through

imagine being a catholic nun and you meet god, but it turns out he’s a twitch streamer from new zealand who became god because everything got a little bit out of hand. and just before you met him you gave yourself a diy grief-fuelled lobotomy with the help of your best frenemy. imagine how insane you’d be. now multiply that insanity by nine. that’s the fictional love of my life right there.

she meets god. she’s not inspired

she’s number one practitioner of space Catholicism. The locked tomb is chock full of Christian (catholic) imagery themes metaphors etc. just look at her she’s got a bone rosary

They're Catholicism with extra bones. Everyone is a nun. They have what is basically a rosary made from knuckle bones. They technically worship the same God as everyone else, but they're waaaay more focused on The Body in the Tomb (Mary) and we get a moment where we find out that while everyone else prays the equivilent of The Lords Prayer, they're doing the equivilent of Hail Mary. And they paint their faces with skulls.

She thinks leaving dry bread in a drawer is taking care of someone. She's in love with a 10,000 year old corpse (the same one they worship). She spent ALL NIGHT digging with her bare hands to make sure a field had bones every 5 feet so she could fight her girlfriend - I mean, greatest enemy. Spoiler territory: She's been puppeting her parents corpses since she was 8 years old. Instead of grieving her dead girlfriend, she gives herself a lobotomy. She makes soup with bone in it so she can use the bone IN THEIR STOMACH to try and kill them.

The author is/was Catholic and the entire series had heavy Catholic overtones. https://www.tor.com/2020/08/19/gideon-the-ninth-young-pope-and-the-new-pope-are-building-a-queer-catholic-speculative-fiction-canon/ A good breakdown of how it's Catholic

Anti-propaganda (spoilers)

I love the Locked Tomb series but Harrowhark has daddy issues with God, had a childhood crush on God's cryogenic partner, and is in love with God's daughter, not to mention that she's essentially a bone-bender. The religion on her home planet exists in a way that is technically against the will of the canon in-universe God, even. All of this to say, Harrowhark is heretical at minimum if not an outright witch. Terrible Catholic. Burn her.