#i just have to stop feeling like i deserve crucifixion for asking | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

baekhvuns · 2 years

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Nah I didn't meet the kid and I never will, cause I really dislike his mother, she's a bitch and messed with my friends 🔪 that's why I said she's a weirdoooo. I haven't spoken to her in ages, I just see her around. Also they live in fucking , I'm not going there.

I thought the final would be a total disaster, but thankfully shit picked up! Argentina deserved it though, can't deny it. Honestly grown up footballers acting like kids will never not be funny and embarrassing lmaoooo. I get Mbappe's frustration tbh, his teammates did nothing to help him, I would be pissed as well, but come on don't be a little bitch about it... okay but every time I think of PSG I can't believe they have Mbappe, Ramos, Messi, Neymar...and they're still pretty mid 😬 seeing Ramos with Messi and Neymar doesn't sit right with me ngl I feel betrayed 😭😭😭😭

Yeah Neymar is good when he's good, but his acting skills....☠ MAN GET UP! Since I'm a Madridista I saw it ALL from Neymar when he was in Barca and 🤡 I was just reminded of this situation, proof even Seonghwa isn't perfect thankfully I have Jongho

Do you remember them playing footie? Sanhwa sucked so bad <3 also The way I didn't know this happened?!

Ofc the final is in FUCKING LA, I bet Ateez will play during the match or some shit lmao. Bring a huge ass Ateez flag, Seonghwa's pc is a must too!

Yep MOTH is too long, unless you're really into to the political aspects, which I like to a certain extent, but the author is dragging it. The characters need to be more fleshed out, but I can't complain since Tasir is getting a lot of attention.

Yes, he is 🥰

Fuck Dior, Lego is more important! Ateez collabed with some Lego knock off though

My friend asked me three times if the track list I sent was a joke aisuiauusanjausaggaag the remixes are so random?! How tf do you even pronounce Halazia, it sounds like a Webtoon made fantasy land or... a disease. Anyways the Prologue tho aaaaaaah, Seonghwa?!?! T-posing like the Jesus himself Taemin! I told you he was giving crucifixion omg. Yeosang chained... Yunho inside the ⏳?!

Krystal and Minho were always fighting for their lives. 2nd gen was build different in general

Bestie, ETL in real life sounds like a nightmare (any type of romantic relationship tbh), considering I don't wanna be in a relationship how would I survive with someone I especially dislike 😭 I'd whoop their ass

This isn't Bob this is Wreck it Ralph lmaoooo what made him go that hard. 🤔 I haven't even seen that show and they're coming out with a new one, please STOP

Kai is scared of Seulgi as he should be! Are they fighting for the bear emoji or what ☠

TY not being a pathetic sweet little man? 😯 That's new!

Yup I told you, BBC is scared shitless, I hope the girls are happy and they don't treat them horribly because of it... But the passive aggressive statement 🔫 - DV 💖

hi hello!!!

😭😭😭😭 NAURR DFHBJDBFH IT'S ON SIGHT IF U SEE HER NOW THE CAPRICORN IN U WAKING UP LMFAOO

noo bc i expected the fight like netherlands v argentina's match, mbappe v de paul sdgfhkgsfds ur right! they did their team was exceptional this time, def better than last times,,, LMFAOO RIGHT I FIND IT SO HILARIOUS BC THE NINJA TURTLE id honestly do the same 😭😭😭😭 tbh if di maria played the entire game, france wouldn't even have a chance,, we were rIGHT THEY DID HAVE A TALK, bro hyped himself up only,,, bro's def in his villian arc at psg now jhbds,,, HEY HEY PSG HAD A GREAT SEASON this next on might be crazy bc messi's got no stress and that man's dangerous w/ neymar mixed in and ramos??? pheww LMFAOOOO NO BC WHEN I SAW RAMOS WAS LIKE BRO??? UR THERE?? U OUT OF ALL??? SAME CLUB?? so much fun to see them together lmfaooo new season gonna be great <3

tbh the best thing about this wc is the amount of memes, THE HUMOR PPL HAVE FHWKHDWK internet is undefeatable 😭😭

LMFAOOO his cameo in the money heist jOKES,, yeah he's great when he plays plays, going to psg probably wasn't the best choice but his last season was crazy too, copa america that last 20 mins vs argentina bro was majestic,, but its shitty to see the amt of times players tackle him roughly and get nothing but when he does the same its a straight red card,, like is he supposed to sit and smile??? 😭😭 OH UR A MADRIDISTA FHQKHEJ IM A BARCA (ATM PSG-ING) FAN SO MY SIGHT IS DIFFERENT FBNEHDKWHDJC THIS IS SO FUNNY I KNEW I STANNED THE RIGHT GUY MY MAAANNNN,, want old barca and old madrid back to see them play against each other annnnnd ur stance on this... haaland coming for mbappe dbdb

Do you remember them playing footie? Sanhwa sucked so bad <3 also The way I didn't know this happened?! //// Ofc the final is in FUCKING LA, I bet Ateez will play during the match or some shit lmao. Bring a huge ass Ateez flag, Seonghwa's pc is a must too!

need a football exclusive show but for kpop idols only, forget isac i need them to create their own team names (barceoul, madrisan for busan fbsdjbf) w jerseys and take it all seriously and have two idol groups against each other,, I THINK ITS EITHER LA OR MEXICO CITY! ateez going to charity matches WHEN WHEN,, PLS ME HOLDING A WHITE ATEEZ FLAG ON NATIONAL TV BJHSBLJSDF, i just see messi walk in and he sees the seonghwa pc, im gone

see the author just needs to balance it all out, one part political, one part latil, majority on the actual harem,,, the empress webstoon could've also been like that but it honestly got boring,, LMFAOOO AS LONG AS TASIR IS IN THE PICTURE FDSHHJF

Yes, he is 🥰 //// Fuck Dior, Lego is more important! Ateez collabed with some Lego knock off though

anon... how long is that webtoon, the plot and everything, im reading this bc its that long haired hwa from ur friends dream 😭😭 YEAH LEGO >>>> DIOR,, it looks like a harry potter ft ateez collab tbh

LMFAOOOO 😭😭😭🤚🏼 we’re all on the same boat it seems 😭😭 blue bird is my hope atm <33 UR RIGHT IT SOUNDS LIKE A FANTASY LAND but that crucifixion thing sent chillsssss 😳😳 i was so amazed IT DID LOOK LIKE A TAEMIN LORE AHKFJQKDHWK HWA TAEMIN ERA INCOMING HELLO,,, so im confused, halateez gone?? brain fried tbh

Krystal and Minho were always fighting for their lives. 2nd gen was build different in general ///// Bestie, ETL in real life sounds like a nightmare (any type of romantic relationship tbh), considering I don't wanna be in a relationship how would I survive with someone I especially dislike 😭 I'd whoop their ass /// This isn't Bob this is Wreck it Ralph lmaoooo what made him go that hard. 🤔 I haven't even seen that show and they're coming out with a new one, please STOP

NO SERIOUSLY U JUST SEE THEM DOING THE MOST RANDOM THINGS TOO?? KRYSTAL ICE SKATING MINHO RAISING A KID??? 2nd gen was so unhinged <33 no ur right, it sounds like a u realistic trope, sure rivals to lovers sounds fine but etl would just turn into enemies to wrestling,, imagine having to deal with what y/n’s deal with in etl fics??? i could never, kudos to all the y/n’s tbh <33 WRECK IT RALPH AU JCBCKCKC PLEASE DID U SEE WHAT THEY DID TO BOB 😭😭

Kai is scared of Seulgi as he should be! Are they fighting for the bear emoji or what ☠

AS HE SHOULD !!!! DESERVED !!!! i think it’s a fan made bear emoji fight 😭😭😭

TY not being a pathetic sweet little man? 😯 That's new! //// Yup I told you, BBC is scared shitless, I hope the girls are happy and they don't treat them horribly because of it... But the passive aggressive statement 🔫 - DV 💖

a pathetic little man 😭😭 submissive and breedable 😭😭 PLS FBWKDBAM i hope the girls at least get something out of it,, smelling lawsuits for january,,, wait but those who bought the album….what about them 😭😭

…

no he’s literally what idols should do

ANON. ANON.

#✉️ : ask #dv 💖 anon

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gay-doodlebug-with-adhd916 · 3 years

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A pre-Easter post, thoughts from a gay Christian (long post)

So, in these days leading up to Good Friday and Easter Sunday, I've been trying to read through the Easter Story in my Bible and the verses/chapters related to it. Although I feel like I've read the story a billion times, I always feel as though every Easter is spent reading this story with other people, hearing other people's interpretations of how Easter played out and Jesus's crucifixion in other people's words. For the longest time, I spent Easter thinking of it as a communal holiday (as in community with people, it's obviously related to the taking of the communion lol), and even then, it is a holiday to be enjoyed with other people who celebrate Easter, completely. However, I think for the longest time I commercialized it in my head as a kid, saw it as this super exciting thing with fun colorful clothes that everyone wears and Easter egg hunts and fun food, and when the games were taken out of it as I grew, I think I diminished it to nothing, as some holiday that "doesn't matter anymore".

All that to say, as someone who's been quarantining since last March, I've spent over a year now, for the most part, in solitude. As a person who may potentially be celibate as an adult, I recognize that this is an exaggerated version of how life at home may be for me forever. And this year has really caused me to realize how completely essential it is for me to keep communicating with God, keep praying, keep depending on Him. Obviously, it's important for all Christ followers to do this. However, I've recognized that praying and reading the Bible and speaking to God as myself, not some over-glorified version of how Christians think other Christians "should be" is one of the few things keeping my head on my shoulders, one of the few things that doesn't make me feel so lonely I feel like the inside of my head is screaming. And I feel like learning to better recognize and celebrate and prepare my heart for something like Easter is such an important thing for me to do as a gay Christian who may potentially be celibate.

This is the story of what our religion and faith and celebration is really all about. This is the fundamental part, the core. Jesus literally died for all people living on the Earth past, present and future. Cishet and queer, of all socio-economic statuses, of all races and abilities and neurotypes and ages. The celebration of this holiday is celebration that the claim "God hates f*gs" is not only wholly inaccurate, but also blasphemous and contradicts every essence of God's being. This is a holiday for queer people like me, and other people who have been treated like they were "too filthy" to enter the walls of certain churches, this is a celebration of the acknowledgement that some churches don't represent the essence of God. This is a holiday for people who love their neighbors, people who have lost their neighbors, people who grieve losing someone and people who grieve being lost by someone. Sometimes I see Easter treated as some "all American" holiday where conservative families do their once a year church run because that's the mainstream thing to do, and I feel discouraged because it is treated like some holiday only accessible to the people who hold signs outside of pride marches and tell people to repent and stop being queer, the people who hold God, America and football all at the same height of importance, and have the gall to jeer at people who honor God in ways that they deem to be "un-American".

But this year, I am taking extra care to read the Bible closely in these days leading up to Good Friday and Easter. I read Psalm 22, and I will read about Palm Sunday, I'll read about the Passover and Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, and how Jesus washed his disciples feet. I'll spend careful time reading about how Jesus spoke to the criminal on the cross next to Him, the way that Jesus treated Thomas even though Thomas went through doubt, the way that Jesus healed the ear of the person who was against him and reprimanded his disciple who cut the ear off. I'll read about the horrific ways that Jesus was treated and crucified by the ultra-religious, political and self righteous leaders at that time, the way that he was sneered at and treated as vermin even though he never, ever deserved it. I'll think about how Jesus thought of each and every one of us as he died and the fact that he saw his mother and those closest to him at the foot of the cross in anguish, begging him to not die, the fact that ultimately what those who crucified him hated the most about him was his determination to love every person he interacted with and treat them with dignity and respect, humanity. The fact that he defended a prostitute and protected her from the perverted political leaders who brought her to Jesus in an attempt to take her dignity away before stoning her. I'll never forget that Jesus was crucified because the self-righteous couldn't handle the idea that a perfect God could truly love every imperfect person, not just the ones who managed to hide their imperfections using their high socio-economic status or the laws that they had partial control in.

And on Good Friday, I will grieve the crucifixion of a perfect savior who chose to fully love people like me, crucified by people like those who would try to convince me that I am going to hell despite believing in Jesus, simply because I am not straight.

And once Sunday comes, I will let myself cry, if I want to. I will thank God that He fights for me, even when those who go against me claim to follow Him. I will thank Jesus for thinking of imperfect people like myself when he was on that cross and I will truly mean it because I do- my gratefulness for the fact that such a perfect God thinks of me, let alone loves me, is something that grows exponentially the more I grow and realize how truly big and terrible the amount of hate in the world is.

And after Easter, I will remember how Jesus treated those who hated him for not being the type of self-righteous ultra political-religious person they were wanting him to be, and I will remember that as a Christ follower, our biggest goal should be to strive to be like Jesus. So I will remember, although life can be difficult in a world and a time where many many people see the concept of gay Christians as a simple impossibility, that I am here for a reason, and I've been made the way I am and in this time for a reason. I will remember to bless those who persecute me, instead of cursing them, rejoicing with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep. I will remember that those who are persecuted on Earth will be highly rewarded in Heaven, and that the loving and protecting of a neighbor who has been hurt can do much more than fighting someone who only wants to be correct at the end of the day. I will continue to pray that God changes the minds of those in the church who struggle to believe that Jesus died for everyone and if God wants to use me in that process, so be it. But as I stay primarily in solitude throughout quarantine, I will pray that God opens my mind and helps me love others because I know that I am just as at fault as everyone else in this respect. I will spend this time reading His word and praying about it, asking questions and allowing myself to be emotional if I want or need to.

I know this was long, but if you made it all the way down here, hi! Thanks for reading all that, and if you're also a Christ follower and you celebrate Easter, I'd love to hear some of your thoughts on Easter and some things you like about it!

If I remember, I will try to keep adding updates on my account about chapters/stories/verses I've read or any new thoughts I have in this process!

Love you~

Doodlebug <3

#Good Friday #Holy Week #Easter #Jesus #crucifixion #Christian #gay Christian #Bible reading #Happy almost Easter!#Easter Sunday #Happy Holy Week #Jesus went to the Mount of Olives today #Yesterday was the iconic day when Jesus cleared the temple #Tomorrow is Holy Wednesday #And the day after that will be the iconic Maundy Thursday #And most of y'all know how the rest of this goes

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xanderwithanx · 3 years

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Chloe does night-time diary posts on HER tumblr, so I'm going to start doing them here, sometimes. It would be nice if you read it, but, please, don't feel obligated! This is more for me to write.

(I got tired of my normal journal, I guess. It's full of bad poetry anyway. Besides, where's the thrill of losing anonymity in a physical notebook?)

I've basically been asleep and depressed for several days, because I had withdrawal after not being able to get my adhd meds. But, I got it today, and DID THINGS. (This is SO much better than before!)

Today, I went to a small café or restaurant (focused on tea) called Alice's Teacup that was Alice in Wonderland themed! My long-standing obsession with Alice in Wonderland knows no bounds. It was a really cute place. I got pumpkin pancakes, and some really good iced tea. Like... REALLY good iced tea.

Still, it seemed like the entire place was geared towards having a pot of tea and snacks with your friends, which left me a bit lonely. The person I asked couldn't come, and by the time I heard back, I was more than halfway there. Still, I read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and watched Monty Python on my phone, so I still had a good time!

I dressed pretty eccentricly and effeminately all day, but, with my facial hair, I was ALWAYS coded as a man, even by people on the street! Pastels, a stupid hat, a crop top, and facial hair was a winning combination.

On my way, I was stopped by some guys soliciting for charity. I don't make a habit of stopping for strangers on the streets of Manhattan. What if it's a scam? What if I'm being pressured to buy something? What if it's a strange political rant? But, I had already taken my earbuds off, I wasn't in a hurry, and I'm terminally polite. The first guy said he liked my energy, which seemed to come from a genuine place, because I liked his too!

They were asking for donations for a breast cancer charity, the United Breast Cancer Foundation. After a discussion, it seems like the charity helps pay medical debt, medical bills, and other practical needs, which is much better than *some* others I could name. I regretted not being able to give their minimum there, as it was pretty high, but told them I'd give what I could when I got on the website.

I... did not. Money is tight, because I'm bad and irresponsible with money, even though this is more than a worthy cause. I didn't NEED to go to that tea place, and I don't NEED to spend so much money on food. Sure, I can justify it: I wanted to go to that place for so long, and it was near the college anyway! But, if I was responsible with money, you KNOW my friends direct fundraising drives would go first, worthy charities second. Still, I feel bad about it.

Then, I went to the college library, to get books to start my thesis research. I have literally been unable to go to the college itself, aside from getting my ID, so this was great! There just wasn't a reason. It was... very empty. I went to the library stacks, which was deathly quiet and deeply haunted by the old books. I half expected something to pop out at me, as I turned the stacks, but I wasn't even paranoid or anxious. It was like I was in something else's house. I was welcome, but on thin ice.

I picked up an irrelevant psychology book on the "schizophrenia problem" from the 1930s, out of morbid fascination, and quickly put it down when it threatened to shatter in my hands.

Some students walked past (which was a suprise in those monastic basement library stacks), and I added something to their conversation, in a totally natural and casual way. But, omg the poor girls, I made them jump! Luckily, I'm the least threatening person on earth, and we laughed it off.

After a lot of hunting, I got 5 out of my 10 books (for the most part)! (The rest are, sadly, online. I like to read physical copies.) Strangely, I only came in with a list to get 3 books out of 6.

Most of the books I got are about art in the AIDS crisis, which is the core of my thesis, I think, all with different value. One about exhibitions, one about the larger narrative of those gay artists, and another contradicting the larger narrative.

I also got a book about "Art and Homosexuality". Just, the parallel construction of both "art" and "homosexuality" across cultures and times, from earliest history to the modern age. It wasn't on my initial list, but I'm really excited to read it.

Finally, I got a book called "The Thief, the Cross and the Wheel", about the pain and spectacle of punishment in Medieval and Renaissance European art. I'm mainly interested in Italian Renaissance art of the crucifixion--and its masochism--for the second quarter of my thesis.

The rest are online, and Should mostly focus on Bacchus in the Italian Renaissance (especially through art) and what I call the art of "gay liberation", concurrent with the AIDS crisis (i.e. The Cockettes). These two topics make up the last half of my thesis.

I'm SO excited to get started!!

I even got to cross the college's sky-bridges! (The college is a few skyscrapers.) Still, the loneliness and novelty were kind of the same thought. Imagine if I had been here before COVID, or, if COVID hadn't happened. Who would I have been able to meet? What would the college buildings mean to me? Because, for now, they're just buildings. But, I got to see the street from above, and that was amazing!

Just walking through New York--the Upper East Side--on a cool, sunny day was beautiful. It takes 20-30 minutes to get from my place to the college (and the tea place), but it was great being able to listen to my music (a lot of They Might Be Giants on the playlist today) and see the city. You know, people, super cool old architecture being pushed out by terrible new architecture, and pigeons.

Oh my god, the pigeons. I took pictures, but none of them are good. I kept thinking about how pigeons and doves are functionally the same. We domesticated pigeons, which is why they're here, and no one is stopping to notice them? Even the ones that were splotched with pure white, like doves? There's only so many pigeons you can take until they're just white noise and a nuisance, I know, so don't think I'm blaming anyone! But it's so hard to look away from these quirky little birds.

Also, at one point my walk, I was vaping very strategicly. The mental task of searching through library stacks will do that to you, when you already have an addiction to nicotine. I made sure no one was around, and no one would be affected. I stopped on a corner next to an old, ornate Catholic church while the traffic light changed, and I almost juuled right next to a priest! I'm glad I stopped. I don't believe in Hell, but, I would have walked down there myself had I vaped at a priest. Still, the church advertised itself as LGBT+ friendly, so maybe they aren't so trigger happy on the damnation. Either way, I DIDN'T vape at a priest today, which is good.

Once I got back, I spent a few hours watching things with my amazing girlfriend Chloe, who you may know here as @cisphobiccommunistopinions. She is so beautiful, and I love her more every day, every time I see her. God, it's almost been 5 years!

I just wish I could spend more time with her. She's in Virginia, and I'm in New York. Like she said to me earlier, I'm flighty at the best of times, and, with my lack of object permanence for the digital world, I find myself not giving her the attention I deserve, or, the full connection I long to have with her. We used to live together. Luckily, someday we will live together again! All these problems won't be forever, and we can live together again.

We watched a lot of things, but we're pretty deep into Serial Experiments Lain right now. It's a postmodern anime from the 90s, and, wow, do I have no idea what's going on in it. It's about the internet, and potentially schizophrenia as well. However, I'm obsessed! One day I'll be able to crack this artistic code, and it's unreality, thematic knots, and double-meanings. I will probably understand it better on the second watch. I don't see myself in Lain, but I see my 14 year old self in her, when I had just developed schizophrenia. Her cyberpunk fate seems like it's railroaded towards tragedy, but I want to save her, even if it's silly and irrational.

I told Chloe that I was scared about spilling apple cider on my library books, and she referred to it as "The Great Apple Juice Disaster of September 11, 2021." To which I said that it was the second worst thing to happen in New York on that date. It was funnier if you were there, and also were in my brain at the time.

Anyway, tomorrow I'm meeting some online acquaintances from the college's "Queer Srudent Union" at a Japanese Culture Fair in a park. (I do not know which park.) It emphasizes "fun"! I don't know them very well, but they're friends with the one person I know irl, so it should be good.

Tomorrow night, I should Probably head downtown to check out a gallery show by MFA (masters of fine arts) students at Hunter! After all, I was in a group project with one of them, and they're absolutely brilliant. I missed the Thursday gallery opening by a landslide, because of the aforementioned lack of adhd meds and Being Asleep, which I infinitely regret. I could have listened to all the artists and curators talk about their art and exhibition! Maybe I could have even talked with the artists and curators. But, it's best for me to go sooner, rather than later, so I don't forget. And, I REALLY want to go.

It's "This dialogue which happened to be present in all other dialogues" at the Alyssa Davis Gallery. From the email I got, "Each of these works observes a threshold of transition. [...] [These] intimations [are] of a frame of mind shared by the artists. These works perform, record, access, engage, document, and entrap, embalming the viewer within the gallery space."

sgp is a really good artist, by the way. Their work is just next-level. Be sure to check out their art, if you have a chance. Let me link their portfolio: https://saragracepowell.com/

(I highly suspect spg and the other member of my group project ghosted me afterwards, but I understand. I was really in over my head. Still, they're both really sweet and kind people, don't get it twisted!)

I ALSO really want to see The Cake Boys. They're performing at the 3 Dollar Bill in Brooklyn on September 26th. (It's only $15!) They're the only all drag king collective in NYC! (Are... there any Other all drag king collectives out there?) Other than the fact that a lot of them are trans or nonbinary, which I love, this show is a totally non-judgmental competition for over 40 drag kings! I've heard their shows are hilarious and unique.

I just have to wait until I have $15 to spare. I... didn't eat dinner tonight, because I'm irresponsible with my money and don't want to ask my parents for money... again. Don't worry, it's literally fine, and I don't make a habit of doing this!

Which reminds me! For my birthday, my parents gave me a gift card to Lush! I'm definitely going to Lush tomorrow, which will be great. I would describe my personality as "Lush store employee acosting you about a bath bomb demonstration", so I'll fit right in.

I also made a transition timeline, to show how much I've changed on testosterone. For the better, I hope! I really believe I'm becoming, if not Have Become, the man I was always meant to be. It's so strange to look back at who I was not too long ago, and to know the absolute pain I was in. It's also strange, in a good way, to see the man looking back at me in the selfies. I'm so much happier now! Much more candid in my pictures, at least. But, I know that I'm so much more comfortable as myself than I was even 6 months ago. It's strange. Sometimes I think to myself, "I don't pass yet; I'm not who I Need To Be yet." Then, I look at my selfie from today, and... I'm THERE. My mind just hasn't caught up with my amazing, natural, normal reality.

The end. I have to get ready for bed, (even though I could be partying on a Saturday night in the city. I'm lame.) If you actually read this, I am kissing you on the mouth right now. I hope it made you calm down tonight, like a terrible bedtime story. If you didn't read it and just skipped to the end, don't worry: you did the rational thing.

#long post #diary entry

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dansedan · 4 years

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I threatened on the Disco Writer’s Nook server to share my notes from this latest fic, but since they’re wildly incomprehensible and kind of silly I thought maybe I’ll just... chuck ‘em on here instead, under a readmore where they can pass by easier so uhhh xX WeLcOmE To My TwIsTeD mInDXx !!!1!!

(warning for LONG LONG post- I write full sections and asides from the universe that aren’t even in the damn fic within the same notes document a lot... I’m also insufferably pretentious on notes I KNOW and I cull it on the final as much as I can, as well as mild possible spoilers for a fic I haven’t written in the same au-timeline-thing I suppose and NSFT stuff)

(also a lot of this gets discarded because it’s so stupid and I write it at terrible brain moments)

"Por la mañana me di a la estúpida tarea de esconder mis cigarros por los rincones de la casa. Los encuentro, claro, pero fumo poco, fumo menos, hago esfuerzos por mejorarme de una vez."

meditative cigarettes and quitting fic.

Harry smokes less than he drinks, because he smokes to keep sharp and he usually wants to be numb, down to zero, space-based. but after going tee-total and opening up on his quest to actual-human-persondom he finds himself chainsmoking constantly. A concern in his volition is raised, a thought project ruminated on, and strategems laid out.

Harry grasps at the first half at a low point in his attempts to get better without anyone knowing or helping. He wonders about Kim's life, Kim's control. The electrochemistry in him fantasizes about a free-wheeling party-boy sort of Kim, still cool, still quiet, but free and soft and in control of his lack of control- the aviator, the flying ace, at the mercy of the elements and gliding by by choice- lands on the question of the one-per day, the Kim he knows, who takes what he needs with trepidation and preparation.

The truth is that last one- Kim was a social smoker, an after-dinner-if-the-date-is-pleasant smoker, an after-sex smoker, a bumming-cigarettes-to-gague-his-interest smoker (it all started with a boyfriend) but police work and his neverending stint in Juvie drove him to once-per-day, a creature of obsession. He used to heavily resent it- until Harry came along and joined the ritual.

"bebiendo mate con el ademán gracioso de los novatos. Es lo que hago ahora cuando siento ganas de fumar, dijo, con una sonrisa."

Kim and Harry not so close together- the idea of Kim and Harry not knowing everything about each other, because that's just not how you survive, but somehow Kim aching to be up-to-date on Harry all the time.

Harry and his funny little excursions around town. Kim visits and finds cigarettes hidden around the house, smells them in fear of finding drugs, or Harry has to awkwardly shuffle around for one when Kim invites him to smoke. Harry tries to join a book club, starts cooking lofty meals for his yoga class, tries being vegan for a week, checks out a bunch of books on the history of the Coupris Corp (SUZERAINTY ERA MARK OF AUTHENTICITY BABEY) as a way to help him wean off substances but also off Kim. They want each other but they know they need to stand on their own </3

Harry starts going to this novelty/gourmet supermarket and buying one new thing every paycheck like furikake that says it has lead on it and mate and all that. He spends his ex-drinking, smoking money on it.

Harry makes Kim huevos rotos :'-)

You're barely holding it together- how the hell did you get to this newsstand? Is it a newsstand? This structure- round, metal, iron-wrought frame and squat stature- was once a newsstand. How do you know it isn't? What is it now? You feel yourself point someplace on a menu you can't see past the dew of heavy crying- the clerk does not react, he's seen you like this- slam your wallet on the counter. You receive a paper parcel slightly larger than your fist, long. It's warm through the paper, and you can feel the dryness of a light dusting of flour passing through it. Food.

Your legs and arms are moving on their own again, wallet shoved this way, steps stumbled past the other, clumsily bringing whatever it is to your mouth and feeling crumbs fall into your beard- like a shark. That's one of the first things you remember, the beautiful old ultraliberal woman, like a shark, on her boat. The joy of your first- no, second- idiom. The first was up on Marvel Hill where you can't live. Kim said that. Kim's gonna be there, when you do it like a shark and don't stop any of this on your way to work and you stop crying so nobody thinks you did what you're avoiding doing. Is there anyway you can forget the frittte? There's so many locations in your mind, what kind of man are you, remembering the placement of a store that's meant to vanish and appear out of convenience like it's a fucking pitstop (would a flask not be enough? A single habit to get rid of, easy- but you're never easy).

You feel dark-dark-light-darkness and then light again, and smoother flooring and your coat being too warm. You're at the precinct- fuck, you're at the precinct- and it's late, real late, but you are here and there's too many people to fuck up here and at least you aren't crying. Your red face and eyes blend perfectly into too many years and days of red and puffy eyes to call attention. Perfect, perfect- god bless the innocence (or is innocence god? You can't forget- Remember- something.)

"You're late, shitkid." At some point Jean appears beside you. He's walked the other way and stopped- he's grimacing- but more importantly you see his left arm raise and still and clench itself, like a restricted movement, natural instinct. "You smell like shit- is that fish?" You do not know if that is fish because your throat hurts so bad already that you cannot know if you've been swallowing bones for this past hour (minute? Minutes? The walk feels like forever and never enough. You're swearing like a pig now that you're standing, how adequate.)

You want to say it's agony, the end of days, the end of you- you want to say reprise, and sorry, and oh god I didn't want to see you please I don't deserve it Jean please leave and go away from me and also please oh god please hold me up I don't know what I'm doing but I'm trying to be better but I ate this thing that might as well be sawdust and I do not know what time it's been for several days.

Instead you say "it's my GOD-GIVEN RIGHT, VIC" and you move along like a fucking idiot.

"An image arises in your mind's eye-- a baby, dirty, hideous, its skin mottled and raw and red, peeling, stretching almost impossibly. The baby cries from pain- in it's brief stay on this earth it has already suffered more than some men do in their entire lives. He is built for it- thick skin, quite literally. He is being held by a slight, pale, ugly nurse- a nun in bloodied white rags with a terrible smell of herbs permanently attached to her. The scene is a caricature of mother and child- the hideous thing, held up to her chest, is drinking from an amber bottle, clouded over. In ten years, the contents of this bottle he will be legally too young for-- is this the reason you became the way you are? Are you just born-and-bred this way, surviving off of alcohol where most people had blood and human kindness?

-- It's not. The little pastiche you've thought up for yourself is half propaganda and half racist idiocy. Despite what the supposed "race-realists" may say, not everyone from the Insulindian is thrown on the bottle the moment they're weaned from the tit. In truth, you were barely even medicated, and those bitter, herbaceous spirits are not the cause of your current addiction. It's still on you harry, it's always still on you.

"Wake up- time to listen to the radio.

You love the radio. You really, really love the radio. You think the radio was the greatest purchase you have ever made- drunk you was horrible, and traumatizing, and entirely undebatably subhuman, but he did buy this radio, and by god fuck if that isn't his saving grace (a story comes to mind- a Dolorean allegory from your childhood- about a selfish rich woman and a lazy cheating bum both ferried up to heaven by a single onion that she'd given him during their lives as charity. You choose to ignore the part where they fight and fall back into hellfire). It's the thing that broke you off from your mazovian monk-like refusal to buy anything for yourself other than flour for a week after THE HANGED MAN, it's what got you into cycling and hanging out with the neon eyebleed catsuits crew, it's what reminded you that public libraries exist and nobody will ask you why you're in there reading about suzerainty-era motor carriage manufacturing and the homo-sexual underground. It's the greatest thing since communism, since disco, since-- since-- since cigarettes and kebabs and- and--

... And idolizing someone to the point of crucifixion. Which you aren't supposed to be doing.

Good thing the radio cranks up real loud!

"You've read everything in this section- theory, history, photography, even, notably, the single romance novel, comically bad, about a middle-aged Vespertine businessman travelling north to the harbour where he had experienced his first teenaged love-- and the young, strapping man he gets to know there. (There are boats involved- it's very biblical). All in all, you read it twice, meticulously rewrote its horrifyingly vague and unsafe sex scenes (in pen, inside. Not like the librarian's gonna check it) and masturbated at your efforts, winning you a very sore wrist and about 30 minutes of crying because you remembered being in a bookshop with Kim in Martinaise while you were remembering what books were, and then remembered Jean's apartment having a secret stack of equally terrible heterosexual novels bequeathed to him by an ex that you made fun of him for (rabidly, for years).

"Harry's apartment is no longer clean, but not as dirty as before, and its stalwart light-green walls seem, in the summer light, less queasy and foreboding than what they are now, almost dainty in the contrast of the sparse few frames and piles of knickknacks on the floor.

Believe it or not, this is good-- sometimes, life with Harry makes you feel like a zoologist, intricately analysing an animal's pile of leaves and refuse and knowing, despite all human standards, what these habits mean for the foreign species. And for Harry, mess like this is good. It means he's kept busy by any one of his million little projects, picked up and put down at a dizzying speed and constancy, each one increasingly out of left field in

Kim and harry talk about the radio, kim thinks about it "radio, what's new? Radio- some-one still loves you"

Harry talking abt agenda + library bc you can't smoke + planning for dinner with Kim :-)

Gotta go to the library so you don't chainsmoke

Gotta shower to go to the library

Don't wanna shower bc executive dysfunction

Grab a smoke before you shower

Oh wait you've been chain-smoking fuck (insert meditation on sharp vs smooth)

Hide all your cigarettes around the house feeling pathetic about it

You still don't feel like showering

But you just chainsmoked and you know you'll do it again because you JUST hid your smokes and the hiding spots are fresh in your mind

Birdbath (why are you so fucking dysfunctional that you can't shower like a normal adult)

Introspective rubber ducky selfhate momence

Rubber ducky encourages you through the power of nihilism and Kim

Thought project gain

Go to library and need comfort so you're going thru all your usual shelves (insert le funny homo shelf joke here)

What does he read about? Smoking? Idk

Kiiiiiim. Kimmy kim kim. Think about Kim

Maybe he reads recipe books to woo kim

INSERT EXISTENTIAL BROTH EPISODE HERE to talk about how you've never actually seen Kim cook (he told you it was good soup, clearly lying, you told him it was broth, and that you could teach him how to make soup out of it if he wanted...)

(broth episode was another note, inserted here:

ANOTHER harry coping fic. Miserable housebound weekend nights because he can't party but the house is horrible to be in and he keeps dunking his hands into more and more ice water and taking like half-body cold showers and he's like "maybe this is bad for my skin!!! I gotta get out holy shit" and he's like uhhhh fucking. Can't go to work. Let's go to the supermarket. And then he's almost there and he's like OH FUCK NO THERES ALCOHOL AT THE SUPERMARKET and he straight up bolts out of there and muscle memory gets him to a shady ass butcher shop in some random immigrant neighborhood and he buys so much fish because of a failed check and he goes home and basically he makes so much fish stock. He makes just so fucking much fish stock and Kim comes to pick him up the next day and panics because it genuinely smells like the dead in there but it's just harry making fucking. fish broth or something. Just harry coming up to the door in his work clothes with way too much cologne on and a thermos of fish soup like "uh... Do you want some Broth kim?" And Kim can't fucking cook but he takes some Broth anyway and he's trying to figure out why harry would do that but harry is being a little edgy about it and Kim is like oh god I need to help him a little and they have a sit down about it and he's like wanting to say "hey if you need somewhere to go I'm here for you" but it's hard and I don't even know if he ends up actually saying it. Okay bye)

Talking about the sexiness of supermarkets and how they make reptile brain go brrr

Think about alcohol vs smoking. Think about kimmy kim kim (insert european drinking joke here)

Have that get stuck in his head. Kim kimmy kim kimmy kimmy kim kim. Kimster. Kimbo. Kitsy. Kitty. Cutie. Oh god no fuck oh god I need to stop.

He goes home and still rlly wants to smonk

You hide the cigarettes around the house. It feels stupid, and you know you’ll be embarrassed having to pull the Jamrock Shuffle in your own apartment, that you’re a grown adult who could just *buy another box of cigarettes* whenever you wanted to, but you feel like it helps. Drag the killing thing away from the crappy little animal even for a couple moments more, let yourself get tired out like the old man you are below all the disco scaffolding. You can’t really bring yourself to shower, but you drag the radio into the bathroom with you and wash yourself in the sink. You try to be good about it- stay away from the mirror, really lather up and clear away the sweat that’s caked to you throughout the night and morning, feel the warm graze of the water on your skin. You brush shampoo through your hair and work it in in cycles, focus on the humming feeling of the bristles on your scalp, trying not to think of much of anything, just the smell of the cheap powdery soap and of what clothes you’ll wear today, try to settle into a better memory of this instead of picking at the shame you feel about how hard it is for you. ducking your head into the stream of the water in the sink and forgetting everything except the whishing, scratching sounds of cleaning.

Being clean feels good, and being dressed again feels maybe even better (knit sweaters are a revelation- who could’ve known polyester satin wasn’t made for seaside winters), so by the time you walk your way into the Jamrock public library the morning’s incidents are nigh-forgotten. The dry warmth of the old library is a reliable balm- the yellowed fluorescent lighting washing out the rows and rows of slate-grey plastic bookshelves lined up like soldiers over prerevolutionary tile, with its woven edges and dark, jeweled pinwheels of color, stretching out endlessly full of books, reels, and the rare intricate portrait hanging overhead. Before them, long wooden tables dotted with mismatched lamps, flickering in and out of use, occupied by antsy juveniles and sleeping hobos. It feels effortlessly like home, like a shared worldly past that welcomes everybody- and maybe that just means that it's generic and a little overdue for renovations, but you love it as it is.

Shuffling through the tall shelves of books, you weave through mindlessly to find your favorite sections- the history (both common and infra-cultural, with a surprisingly competent collection of industrial works and a predictably miserablly little shelf of homo-sexual underground interest), the art, and the meager offerings of political literature. You can hear your off-tune humming echo back to you somewhat feebly off the high, painted ceiling, done up in some lame facsimile of early Dolorian excess (therriers, noblewomen, forget-me-nots crowding the edges of each filligreed panel, dead-eyed faces in doleful expressions, pale and empty smiling). You've got all of daylight ahead of you, which is more than enough time to browse around as usual before you have to get yourself home and start cooking.

You turn the corner smoothly into the very back of the library, into a wider set of dusty and anachronistic wooden bookshelves-- history trends unpopular, considering the fact that all the books within are horrifyngly outdated due to a miserable municipal budget, maybe that's for the best. There are better places for students to get this information now, like the private library a couple blocks away at the Cycle Universitee, or from library dial-stations tuned in from the south, where the Bibliotheque Nacionelle Des Travailleures is run by Coalition-approved volunteers. The first thing to catch your eye is the pillar of works of infra-cultural expression and documentstion- essays and short stories from New authors, studies and zines on Disco, and of course, the particular political darling of the 20s, the homo-sexual underground.

You've read everything in this section- theory, history, photography- even, notably, the single commercial romance novel, comically bad, about a middle-aged Vespertine businessman travelling north to the harbour where he had experienced his first teenaged love-- and the young, strapping man he gets to know there. (There are boats involved- it's very biblical). All in all, you read it twice, meticulously rewrote its horrifyingly vague and unsafe sex scenes (in pen, inside. Not like the librarian's gonna check it) and masturbated at your efforts, winning you a very sore wrist and about 30 minutes of crying because you remembered being in a bookshop with Kim in Martinaise while you were remembering what the world was, and then remembered Jean's apartment having a secret stack of equally terrible heterosexual novels bequeathed to him by an ex that you made fun of him for (rabidly, for years). You shudder, now, at the sight of its cracked spine looking you from the middle sill. Its gaze feels hefty and judgemental, and you do not like it.

There are

KIM CHAPTAAAA

"you'd like him to take care of himself. You'd like to be there to do it for him when he can't"

"He opens the door, and immediately there are a million little things that test you (hell, with that thick-knit sweater he's wearing, any weakness in you would have him writhing on the floor in seconds). The half-up style of his now-so soft looking auburn hair, split across to reveal the pale white of his nape between the raised collar of his sweater, the kind wrinkling of his open smile upon seeing you walk in, the light, jazzy music of the radio backing his belly-deep laugh and the heady smell of incense in the room are all exhilaratingly Harry to you.

What to do with jean:Standalone fic for him?

Starts when he sees Harry with the eyebleed crew and he's the one who goes up to him like "WHAT IN THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING SHIT KID" and harry is like. Oh god oh fuck jean uh let's be... Cordial! Optimistic! (What jean sees is one of his signature pauses but like. Yeah it's the skills talking) and he's just like "oh it helps me stay sober and make friends, I found out about it on the radio🙂" and Jean is like holy fucking shit this is absolutely insane.

1) bc Harry used to be so repressed he was basically homophobic with his macho act

2)bc Jean originally didn't believe the amnesia thing but then when Harry genuinely did shit like this and never told him (which, if it was a cruel joke he would've tried to make it very public and obvious and drag jean into it to embarrass him)

3) because JEAN was his friend and why the fuck does he just. Run off with random people with a radio ad instead

4) because he's doing so well. He's like, fully at the sort of "this-side-of-pudgy" bear level that's hot enough to get him positive attention over the damage of the alcohol and he's wearing the sort of clothes that show it and he's got all these crew buddies where Jean is stuck with his hellish depression workouts where he sometimes works until he pukes and then feels like shit about self-harming like that. (what he doesn't know is that Harry is basically doing that same exact shit just he's using his swag alcoholic skills to lieeeeee about it. rip)

Maybe harry apologizes in their conversation about the romance novels. Like it blurts out.

eventually add in the previous consideration fic you were thinking of &quot

starting with bitter porno kimbo/viccy catfight bullshit

"no that's pathetic and he'd never go there." dynamic where kim cares quietly and jean is bitchy about Harry

then "no, he's dealt with harry so much already, I can't imagine." so it's all concern for him

and then that backslides into "how could I comfort him? how could he understand my need for comfort? "

we stan a mildly nonaccepted himself Jean so he's like "WAIT UH GAY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS GUY TOO? FUCK FUCK FUCK"

gotta make it panic horny. it's a Dan Gat fic. how would kim look.... yknow......

since the only other guy who's been like that with him has been harry -> third wheel dynamic going to ->

horny ot3 dynamic. old men doting on him because it's his fantasy and he gets to be the pampered one goddamnit

end somehow

THIS IS THE EXACT DYNAMIC WE'RE GOING FOR Jean liked Harry premart and Harry was unbearably machismo repressed homophobic bullshitero man (I need to decide if he was stupid enough to be like AS LONG AS IM ON TOP IT ISNT GAYYYY or smth sex/intimacy related like that maybe he just kinda. ""comically"" hit on Jean or said suggestive shit to him but never fully acted on it) and then he comes back from Martinaise all loyal puppy dog or whatever for Kim and Jean is like "??? OKAY SO I GO THROUGH ALL THIS BULLSHIT AND HE TALKS SO BIG ABOUT LOVING MUSCLE DUDES AND NOW HES GONNA FUCK THIS GRANDPA?" but then he's like self-aware enough to know that's stupid.(Jean's problem is that he looks for wounds on Kim and not Harry, so he's all like "damn this bitch stole my mans when he's actually good...." meanwhile Harry is like Very Obviously Self Harming All The Time and not even really with Kim so often rip)

Harry wants to reach out and ask him about his thing with Kim because he has memories of Jean either being gay or being less homophobic or just having Gay Energy that he was an asshole about or whatever plus it just feels natural to work through shit with Jean but he stops himself because he's like "well DRINKING also felt natural that doesn't mean we should do it..."

maybe they get into it because Jean makes an offhand comment about "stop ogling kim" and harry is like (computer warmup noises) and jean just kinda forces him to spit it out RE: meme description

Harry's whole deal with avoiding Jean is "some things are unforgivable and I'm fairly sure I've done things bordering on that to you for so, so long, and now I don't even know what they were or who I was when I did them, to me that person is dead, and I know then that I can't apologize to you thoroughly, genuinely, and I don't want to insult you by presuming that I ever could, at this point. I don't want to insult you by assuming I can just go back to what we were before, to each other, without an apology or an actual understanding of what went wrong. I can't speak for certain about his mind-my mind- but at least in some part that guy killed himself because of what he did to you, and to everyone around him, sure, but mostly to you. And now I'm here, and it feels horrible to try and go against that and push myself into your life. It feels horrible to see I've done something to you worth killing myself over and then still insist on coming back to bother you beyond the grave"

And Jean's response is "you thought everything was bad enough to kill yourself over! And you're still alive, you're still him, and fuck, yes it'll take a long ass fucking time for me to ever really forgive you, but you were my best friend and you're still fucking alive- I see you every single day, Harry, do you know what that's like? To see your best fucking friend every single day and watch him flinch and try to act like he doesn't exist every single time he sees you? Fuck you and fuck what you wanted before, *I* never wanted you dead, and your little stunt here with pretending you're finally fine and then keeping everyone at an arm's distance is just another, slower grave you're digging" etc etc "if this is the upswing at last, I’d better be there for it.**”

Jean is a frat boy that you do not expect to be a frat boy. He unironically gets along with mack and chester. He's only just started to grow out of it through dealing with Harry's horrible downfall

sequel to geste drole des debutantes but it's just a 3 chapter PWP masturbation fic..... of Kim and Harry after the dinner and then SHOOKETH SURPRISE IT'S JEANGST YEARNING TIME!

Kim trans.... Good for him...

Stroker shit

He wants to fuck Harry basically

...slow tease? Or fast and desperate?

Dry kissing

Hair pulling...

Youre hard, and you're wet, and you can't help but think of that smile on his face as you left and you want him to taste it, to get on his knees for what he's done to you and swallow it all down, feels the soft brush of his beard on your thighs.

Harry also trans... Good for them good for them...

Handkink shit

Wants kim to absolutely wreck his shit

... He's new at this

Slow....

Jean

Jeangst

Want to wreck harry's shit... Mouthfuck stuff maybe

Power bottoming?? Idk

Whoops my hardcore dom revenge fantasy has slipped into a getting bossed around by the guy I thought I disliked for taking away my partner UHH.... LETS NOT UNPACK THAT....

Some idiot makes like a homophobic stupid "ah the fucking lieutants off scissoring or something" comment and then jean is like "oh god what if that but sexual instead"

Gym shower...

Jean has a big dick too bad bitch

When harry du bois ruined his life, thinks satelitte-officer Jean Vicquemare- he might at least have had the decency not to also curse his dick. This shit was weekly and only getting worse, now that the shitkid didn't constantly smell like despair and carrion had scored a threesome with a bartender's manual.

#my writing #in a way!#my fic #long post

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heretyc · 5 years

Text

Short & Sweet Small Outlast Character hc’s [excluding Walrider]

By small, I mean the size of Tinkerbell. I used to do these with my friend but for some reason I can’t find the screenshot of us doing it, so I gotta shoot in the dark. Yeet. Val is in here and she’s her own warning rofl. These are two AU’s put together: the antags aren’t murderous fuckheads [at least towards YOU] and they’re small. Apologies for excluding the Ghost Asshole; I really had no idea as to how I’d write for him. Enjoy!

@nicktremblaywayfu

Nicky boye is in here for you 🥴

Protags

Miles

- If you anger him, he’d misplace your stuff. Your toothbrush is suspiciously gone. Where did your pencils go?

- Don’t bring him out into public cause he’d make you laugh your ass off.

- If someone is a dick to you he’ll throw mini middle fingers to them. It doesn’t do much. But it’s the effort that counts.

- Pretty motivating! You got work to do? He’ll bring you one of your missing pencils [that he totally didn’t take!] and encourage you.

- Hates scissors and anything to do with them. Ensures you use them carefully.

- “Why are you so frightened, Miles?”

- “If Trager sees me, he’ll chop me in half. Recipe for disaster, my friend.”

- “...Fair.”

Waylon

- He doesn’t like how vulnerable he is, so you can bet your ass he’s frightened of everything that could squish him.

- Protect him.

- He’s a total sweetheart.

- If you’re making cookies he helps by licking the bowl, although he can only get through a quarter of the dough before groaning in pain due to how much he ate.

- He can also make cool little designs on them if you ask.

- He can’t hug you properly so he hugs your fingers.

- He attempts to make you feel better if you had a bad day.

Blake

- His glasses didn’t minuscule themselves, so he has to deal with Barbie ones. They don’t have real lenses so he suffers.

- He’s fine and feels okay with his situation as long as Val doesn’t find him rofl

- Don’t let Val find him. He trusts you. [But what if you’re Val in disguise? Don’t tell him that.]

- He tries to be independent, but the last straw was when he couldn’t reach the ON button on the coffee maker. God forbid.

- He enjoys walks! Just make sure he doesn’t fall off of your hand or your shoulder.

- He’s too wholesome for his own good, bro.

- He’s like Miles when regarding work, but he’s more intense. Get your work done! The both of you can enjoy sweets afterwards!

Antags

Eddie

- He’s okay with his situation for now.

- He can put thread through the needle a lot easier now, so that’s a plus. [Although he prefers sewing machines!]

- If you have any dolls he’ll make clothes for them.

- He’s a gentleman so he tries to kiss your hand. Tries. He settles with your pinkie instead.

- If he needs help he’ll yell out for you.

- Imagine trying to take a nap, but you hear “DARLING!”, and you assume something happened.

- You run in only to see he’s smiling like an asshole. He mentions that he made you something and he wants your opinion on it.

- Bastard.

- If he gets mad, he’s quite harmless. That fact alone makes him even MORE angry. Just put him in the corner and wait.

Trager

- HAHAHAAA MOTHERFUCKER

- Ahem. Sorry.

- He gets bored very quickly.

- He can’t do anything that he likes. Including biology work. It’s bullshit. So he complains and drinks one of those mini bottles of alcohol.

- The only thing he can do is help you if you get a cut or break something minor. Like a finger.

- He gets pissed off if he can’t do what he wants due to his size.

- He wants to write “fingers first, then balls, then tongue” on your walls but he can’t ;(

- Take some Sharpie and assist him, won’t you?

- He will, without a doubt, insult people in public if they anger him. His size doesn’t matter.

- “FOR FUCKS SAKE LINDA. MOOOOOOVE. GET OUT OF OUR WAYYYY.”

- “Calm down, Ri-”

- “NO.”

- Then Linda looks back at you in shock and doesn’t believe the fact that a little asshole was screaming at her.

- TO THE CORNER WITH YOU, TRAGER

Chris

- He’s not that scary anymore!

- He is to small animals, though. Mice begone.

- He’s a big boye so it feels like you’re holding a small bean bag :3c

- His nails might give you a small scratch. Have fun trying to cut them rofl

- Beheads your dolls. Barbie is now headless and Ken is planning her funeral ;(

- He still breathes quite loudly, so if you’re in a quiet place you can hear him.

- He’s a nightmare if something goes wrong outside. He wants to resolve the issue by death

- He can’t wrap his hands around anyone’s neck, so...have fun Chris

- Do not tell him about the Walrider rofl

- You wanna see two minuscule assholes battling it out? Then please do mention Walrider

Val [EXCITEDLY RUBS HANDS TOGETHER]

- Affectionate. Too affectionate. It’s suspicious, ig

- Hugs your fingers whenever she wants to, cause honestly, would you deny tiny cultist hugs? No? Didn’t think so.

- Tries to hug your face. And lick it. She has a lot of skin to lick with her tongue being the size of a gummy bear’s ear. Have fun, honey 🤪

- [too sexual to list but she takes advantage of your fingers. enjoy your imagination you PERVS]

- Going outside isn’t an issue. She chills on your hand and doesn’t say anything.

- Bad day? That’s illegal. She’ll take care of you as much as she can.

- If she has her heretics, you’ve got an army of fairy-sized individuals wanting to vibe with you.

- Your hands won’t be able to fit em all. :(

Marta

- For someone being fairy-sized, she’s still quite tall.

- Her axe is now toy-sized, so make sure you don’t step on it by accident!

- Still would chase after things.

- If Val is around, she will be relentless. Do not tell her anything ╰（‵□′）╯

- Stepping on her axe would be like stepping on a Lego. OW

- She likes incense sticks, so give them to her if you can :D

- Her size won’t stop her from liking incense!

- Break off a bit and she can put it in her weapon for floral-scented violence!

- YUM!

- She’ll read with you and turn the pages for you. She’s so nice if you exclude her rampages rofl

Laird & Nick

- Laird’s arrows don’t do shit so he can’t hurt anybody

- LAME

- And you don’t let them go near fire. DO NOT LET LAIRD WITHIN REACH OF MATCHES

- OH GOD OH FUCK

- Syphilis is a pain in the ass so you have to wear gloves handling them, in case their sores pop.

- Laird is an ankle biter [finger biter?] while Nick won’t give you much trouble.

- NICK HUNTING CRICKETS WITH A TOOTHPICK. PICTURE THAT!!

- You help him make salted crickets once he’s done :D

- Give Laird a bible and some bandages and you’re fine

- I know it’s too late but attempt to give Nick penicillin. God knows Nick deserves it

- Knowing Laird he’d make a cross out of popsicle sticks and hang something on it

- DIY Crucifixion

#outlast #little val has my heart #omg #headcanons #outlast headcanons #outlast hcs

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darby-writes-stuff · 5 years

Note

2 ineffable husband :3

“Little demonic miracle of my own.” Crowley stuck his arm out, handing Aziraphale back his leather bag stuffed with semi-prophetic books.

Aziraphale took the handle, their hands brushing, and his heart nearly popped like a balloon in his chest. He almost missed Crowley offering a lift home, he felt as though he were on an entirely different plane of existence. He saved the books. He saved MY books. I didn’t even ask him to.

Just how long have I been in love with him?

The realization hit with the force of… well, a bomb, but that seems slightly in bad taste. Aziraphale followed Crowley to his car in a daze, sitting down and mulling over his thoughts. Memories flood back to his mind, memories of the exile of Adam and Eve, memories of the Ark and the crucifixion, of Rome and France and Shakespeare and Agreements and fights and it’s as if a bright spotlight has been cast upon these memories, amplifying the small things and casting shadows on things that he had never realized before.

I love him and he loves me too.

And then he was knocked out of his head and into full gear, Crowley slamming on the accelerator and flinging them both down the streets of London at- Aziraphale stole a glance at the speedometer- 110 miles an HOUR?! Aziraphale gripped his bag close to himself, looking at the demon who was sure to cause his untimely discorporation. Was every car ride going to be like this?

The benefit of Crowley nearly breaking the sound barrier was the quick arrival he made to Aziraphale’s bookshop, and it was then that Aziraphale realized he had to get out. He had to leave, potentially not seeing Crowley again for another 100 years, maybe even more.

Aziraphale and Crowley stepped out of the car and made their way up to the door of the shop. Aziraphale put his hand on the doorknob but did not turn it. He took a deep breath and looked to his companion. “Crowley, would you… Would you stay here tonight?”

Crowley was visibly taken aback. He sputtered a bit before finding his words. “I’m- I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m sorry, it’s probably highly inappropriate,” Aziraphale said, twisting the ring on his pinky. “I just thought, what with the whole… air raid and thousands losing their lives, I thought I would offer you somewhere to stay safe.” He broke eye contact, looking down at the bag of books. “I’d hate to see something happen to you.”

Crowley was silent before huffing. “I’ll be fine, angel, nothing’s going to happen.”

Aziraphale nodded, putting his hand back on the doorknob and opening the door. “Of course. Be safe.”

Crowley returned the nod and turned to leave, and something inside of Aziraphale must have snapped or flipped the self-preservation switch into the off position, because he quickly put his book bag down and ran back to Crowley’s side, planting a small peck on his cheek. “Thank you.”

And he retreated into his bookshop, locking the door behind himself and leaning against it.

And then he tells him he goes too fast. He tells him he goes too fast because he knows what they have. He knows what’s between them, but he can’t risk it, he can’t risk it all no matter how much he wants, and he wants. But he can’t, and so he doesn’t. He hopes Crowley understands.

Aziraphale disposed of the uncomfortable fake teeth with a snap of his fingers and took a seat in a wooden chair in a small shack on the edge of the Dowling estate. Crowley removed her heeled boots and unpinned her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders in crimson waves. It took all Aziraphale had not to run his hand through it.

Crowley lets out a deep sigh as she sits across from Aziraphale, finally relaxing. “Dark Lord, whoever invented those things deserves a promotion.” She pointed to the boots lying haphazardly on the floor.

Aziraphale poured two glasses of wine, holding one out to Crowley and smiling. “Dear girl, I believe that was you.”

“I know what I said,” she threw back without any bite before sipping her wine. “Those things give me blisters to rival the plagues.” She groaned, sinking down in her chair. “Walking back is going to be a nightmare.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You can get rid of them pretty easily, can’t you?”

“That takes all the fun out of it.” She pulled a stocking-clad foot up into her lap, feeling through the fabric for blisters.

“Well, if you must, you can stay here tonight.” He sipped his wine then put the glass down. “I only keep the bed to keep up appearances, I don’t use it.”

There was silence, then the sound of a loud zip. Aziraphale looked over and saw Crowley putting her boots back on. Aziraphale rushed to his feet and opened his mouth to speak but Crowley put a hand up. “Don’t. I have a room back in the estate, it’s not that far of a walk.” She zipped up her other boot and retrieved her hair pin. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

And she shut the door behind her, the slightest remnant of purple lipstick on the rim of her barely touched glass being the only thing alluding to her having been there in the first place.

And then, THEN he told Crowley he didn’t even like him! Which Crowley immediately sniped down, but Aziraphale seemed bent on reassuring him of the fact that they weren’t even friends. They both knew it was a lie. So why did he let Crowley walk away under the impression that Aziraphale has never spared a thought to the demon in the same way he has for the angel?

And now, the bus ride back to London is quiet. Partly because they have just, you know, ended the apocalypse and that takes a while to unpack. Partly because they have their fingers interlaced with each other, and that’s the longest they’ve held physical contact since… ever.

When the bus stops, Crowley lets go of the angel’s hand and leads him up to his flat, fumbling with the keys and throwing the door open. He takes Aziraphale into the living room, flopping himself down onto the grey couch. “I’ve earned another century-long nap.”

“Crowley, I really don’t… I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be here.” Aziraphale fidgets with his hands, fear and panic doing the same to his stomach.

“Oh, come on, angel. They won’t bother us tonight, they need to make sure all their heavenly soldiers are appeased. Sit.” He pats the couch but Aziraphale stays put.

“They- they could come after you, or me, or both of us, they’d get us both.”

“I won’t let that happen.” Crowley throws his legs back over the couch and stands, walking over to Aziraphale. “I’ve got protections put up already, nothing and no one is getting in.”

Aziraphale’s vision goes blurry, tears spilling out onto his cheeks. “But- But what if they-”

“Aziraphale, please.” Crowley’s voice cracks, and that’s what forces Aziraphale’s attention onto him, even through the tears. He steps closer and wipes his angel’s tears away, keeping his hand on his cheek. “Please, just… stay here tonight.”

Aziraphale is silent, then he nods and whispers. “Of course.”

Crowley plants a kiss on his forehead and pulls him close. “We’ll figure this out. I promise you, we’ll figure this out, Agnes knew what she was doing.”

They spend the night planning, talking, and just being near each other, and in the morning when Crowley shuts the door behind him with Aziraphale’s hands, he leaves a kiss goodbye on his own cheek.

And then they win. They tricked them, they’re free now. They’re free to go on walks, to have picnics, to dine at the Ritz, and when Aziraphale looks at Crowley and they toast to the world, they know it’s all worth it.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #fanfiction #ficlet #crowley #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #a/c #it may be a little rough but i very much enjoyed writing it! the formatting may be Fucked though

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twilightknight17 · 4 years

Text

Today on Royal: Pain! :’D

He’s eating the map and I’m getting steadily more weirded out by all of this the longer it goes on.

I’m definitely worried now. Where the fuck is the Velvet Room. How is he powerful enough to override the Velvet Room?

So he wants me to see “his reality”. Which means going out and seeing how happy all of Akira’s friends are. And they are happy! ...but not happy enough that a few well-placed dialogue choices can’t start poking holes in the story they’ve been fed. Maruki’s not perfect at this. And honestly, he’s taken Akira’s friends, not given him anything. We went from everyone wanting to spend time with Akira to everyone having other things to do. Ryuji doesn’t even know why they’re friends. Thinking about how they met is what starts to crack his illusion.

While I was looking for my friends, I ran across this couch outside the furniture store in Kichijoji.

Examining it yields only this:

So now I gotta go back to Kichijoji after it frees me from the plot so I can see what’s up with this conspicuously Velvet blue couch.

(I will say, if I have one complaint about this part, is that it’s six days of the same thing. Wake up, locate Friend, see how they’re doing, return home, spend evening in bed contemplating whether this is a good thing because Friend is happy. You can’t do anything else, see how any of your other confidants are doing... What does Iwai’s ideal world look like? Takemi’s? Hifumi’s?)

I think out of everyone I feel the most bad for Morgana.

I mean, he spends half the game as it is worrying that he’s some sort of monster instead of a human. And now that he’s human and I’ve gone and jabbed a hole in his dream, he’s spending a week growing more and more afraid as he realizes that something isn’t right about himself. That’s just straight-up existential terror.

Goro didn’t really find a lot during his week of investigating. Mostly just that Maruki’s been doing cognitive psience stuff since college, and that Okumura and Wakaba are...actually alive.

Does that mean if we end the dream, we’re murdering them?

Not taking the Misericorde with me feels like a betrayal of my role as heir to the title of Trickster, but I can’t really turn down an extra thirty points of attack. X’‘‘D Especially since Goro and I are going into the Palace alone.

Other than the weird security cameras, this place really is beautiful. And apparently the music that I like so much is called “Gentle Madman”. Stop hitting all these fucking tropes I like, Maruki. It’s not fair.

Oh heck, wait, are we doing this now? This is an actual question? I assumed that was for the endgame. Well, if I’m here... The safe room was right downstairs...

Let me be selfish. Just for one moment. Please.

Please.

.....no, wait, this hurts.

This hurts a lot.

Because they deserve this. They all deserve this happiness. I’ve never heard Goro sound that genuinely happy as he did in this ending. But the only way to give them this is to leave them trapped under the will of a dictator. And they deserve better than that.

From the Den:

They’re looking at you. Judging you for the sin of the choice you made.

I find it interesting that while Akira and Goro are clearly looking at you with full knowledge of what you did, the game itself doesn’t seem particularly judgemental. I got the “view the ending” trophy and the option to save clear data, which to me implies that it’s...obviously the wrong choice, but a valid choice regardless. I never got the “Good” Ending in vanilla P5, so I don’t know if that offered the same level of legitimacy. This was treated as a real ending.

[reloading save data]

Of course we can’t accept this reality, why would he even think we would do that? X’‘D

Sumire is throwing a fit because she still wants to be Kasumi, and is getting ready to fight us. Shit. Still, she’s inexperienced, and both of us are strong enough to han--

Goro: I could deal with this, but I’m assuming you want her to leave here alive, right?

It’s sweet of you to take what I want into consideration, but yeah, I’d really rather not kill her, so just tone it dow-- Aaaaand he’s walking away and leaving me to fight her alone. Thanks, honey.

Shoutout to using the same strategy as the battle arena and just equipping something that repels physical. She took her own swords dance to the face and got knocked out.

......what the fuck are you doing? This just looks like torture.

I know for a fact that that’s not Nyarlathotep because I’m pretty sure I’d have had people beating down my door to point it out already. Because crucifixion pose by itself? Common imagery. Tentacles? ...coincidence, probably. But if this had been Nyar puppeteering Maruki or something? I’m one step away from being Super Duper Valid. I already feel pretty valid anyway.

HELLO, Persona 3! Nice(?) to see an out of control persona again. I wonder how close her persona was to reverting to a shadow? Sumire feels like more of a “dungeon” sort of person. Since she’s suppressing something.

But...what was Maruki’s goal here? Beating us into submission? He’s just letting Sumire’s emotional torment go out of control; hell, he’s literally feeding into it with the Biyarkis. He’s using her to fight us, and that’s...disgusting, honestly. You want everyone to be happy, but you’re going to let her throw herself at us over and over? Really?

Why do I feel like all of this “I want you to understand, we can talk, you’ll see things my way”, all of this asking for consent, is bullshit? Does he really want us to see things his way? Or can he actually not alter our reality without consent?

Thank god for the cavalry because this battle was clearly impossible from the first round. I love that the other Thieves have no idea what the fuck is going on, but their leader is in danger so they’re gonna Fight.

I think there’s not. We don’t want to talk. Fuck off. And also stop swiping tropes I like. You’re not Rubicante; you’re not earning my respect by refusing to fight me when I’m tired.

Goro, I know you’re Done with everything, but that’s really not helping.

The Phantom Thieves are momentarily baffled, because it’s clear that we have to change Maruki’s heart, but they’re getting thrown off by the fact that he’s not “evil”. Yeah, he’s not. He has good intentions. But he’s doing bad things to accomplish those intentions. Doing bad things for good reasons is still bad.

...if he wasn’t like this... maybe it would be okay. If he could make everyone happy, erase their trauma, make the world better...without rewriting memories or being a brainwashing dictator... That might not be wrong. But he’s made it pretty clear that he’s on a power trip and doesn’t want dissent, which is no better than Yaldabaoth.

What we did to Futaba and what he’s doing are vastly different things.

...Morgana calls her “Lady Lavenza” and that’s really cute, actually. I’m realizing I portray Lavenza as more of a child than the game does, but I like both.

Oh so now we can press Morgana for what’s wrong. Learned from your prior mistakes, huh, ‘Kira? XD

.....I love her.

It’s extremely weird to have the whole squad interacting with the Velvet attendant and addressing her by name. That’s so strange in comparison to how it usually is. But these are strange times, and once again, it’s unnerving how much power Maruki has.

He’s strong enough that he’s suppressing the Velvet Room. That’s horrifying. I wonder if he knows they exist; I could see him considering them a threat to his ideal world. Normally I’d be sure that Igor and Lavenza could kick his ass if he tried anything, but... I genuinely don’t know anymore. Igor is still recovering from being imprisoned, and Lavenza is barely able to manifest to talk to us.

Meanwhile, Maruki is using a persona.

Normally I’d be fussed about him summoning in reality, but apparently reality is still half-fused with Mementos, which in the greater scope of Persona lore feels like something similar to what was happening in P1 and P2. The collective unconscious is very close to the surface. I’d be curious whether or not the kids could summon outside of the Palace with a bit of practice, but I’m sure the game won’t go into that.

...although, that doesn’t explain him being able to use his powers in reality before the beginning of the year. Mementos only started fusing with reality in December.

I’m looking directly at you, Atlus. You made a human villain stronger than what I imagined for the strongest persona-user?

......oh, Mona, I’ve got like 3 different notes documents for you to read about why that can be allowed. X’D

*cracks knuckles* Not to take Goro’s side, but...we already killed one god, didn’t we?

But...this is our fault, and we have to fix it. I don’t completely understand how Maruki granting the Thieves’ wishes transferred the belief of the masses to him, but... This can’t go on. If Mementos completely fuses, this becomes permanent, and there will be no way out. Time to go.

I really do appreciate that Goro was invited as one of the Phantom Thieves. And Ryuji asked for his input on whether we’re going after Maruki.

...you all said it. He’s one of you now. No take-backs.

#Li plays P5R #long post #these posts keep getting longer #so much is happening X'''DDD

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qqueenofhades · 5 years

Note

#all these fall-related crowley illustrations Hurt Me#because i have a headcanon that while he dismisses it#and plays it off as a vague downward saunter#it really was genuinely painful for him#because falling can't be otherwise#and of course he uses snark to disguise it#but it's a sticking point#especially with his constant questions/personal code of morality/struggle with being a demon CARE TO ELABORATE ON THESE HEARTBREAKING POINTS, HILARY!?!?

Ahahahahaa. Ahaha. Haha.

HAH.

(My Fall-related Crowley feelings are Legion.)

Basically, it’s my headcanon that because Crowley is a sarcastic and dramatic bitch, plus not exactly someone who is prone to talking about his emotions and/or admitting how deeply he feels things, he is dismissive and flippant about his fall and describes it as “sauntering vaguely downwards” and otherwise is a master of British understatement about it. Because as long as he’s Funny and Cool about it, nobody, not even Aziraphale, can understand that it broke him.

I mean, think about it. Falling from heaven cannot be otherwise than completely painful and terrible and traumatic, especially if you’re a celestial being who has never known anything else, and especially when you are one like Crowley, who feels the injustice of things so deeply and is the only character in the series that we see genuinely praying/begging God to stop the apocalypse (“you shouldn’t test them like this... not to destruction,” stand by while the blogger suffers over that scene Again.) Because Crowley isn’t a character who talks to other people about how he feels, he can only do it with himself, and we see him like... at least three different times, at least, dwelling on this:

“I didn’t mean to fall, I just hung around the wrong people.” Crowley is still resentful and worried about having to help cause Armageddon, we have seen him be as unenthusiastic as possible about delivering the Antichrist, and it’s in the back of his head that he shouldn’t have to be responsible for this. He didn’t ask to be a demon, he wasn’t planning to get chucked out of heaven, and he still feels that it was vaguely unfair that it happened to him at all. He doesn’t agree with anything heaven is doing now and it’s not like he wishes that he stayed, but the burden of being Hell’s Great Evil or whatever they think he is... he hates it. He was the one who first proposed the Arrangement to Aziraphale the first chance he got. Crowley does not like hell, he does not like what he has to do, and he acts out to satisfy his own restlessness and enjoyment of low-level chaos like the M25 and bringing down mobile phone networks, but he isn’t someone who embraces evil. He doesn’t want it and it wears on him.

Next, in all the flashback scenes (Eden, Mesopotamia, Golgotha) where we see Crowley directly challenging/questioning the Almighty’s various decisions (exiling Adam and Eve, drowning everyone, crucifying Jesus), he is genuinely upset over them (especially the killing kids part, “that’s something you’d expect my lot to do.”) Crowley has never lost his sense of right and wrong and his anger that heaven had the gall to throw him and the others out, but then keeps on doing shit like this, and he’s equally angry at Aziraphale’s circular logic and deflecting platitudes about how it’ll all be for the best, rainbow means they won’t get drowned again when they did nothing to deserve it in the first place. When they’re watching Jesus get nailed to the cross, he tells Aziraphale flat out that his lot put him on there. Crowley is just a quietly stewing ball of demonic rage over the unfairness of this, and the fact that his demon-ness means he is forced on a side he doesn’t want to be on, and the one he left behind isn’t any better. No wonder we find him in Rome eight years later, trying to drink his sorrows away and wearing sunglasses for the first time. I have a lot of feelings about the fact that Crowley tries to hide his eyes and hence his demonic nature (though as that post the other day pointed out, he doesn’t really need to do it? He could just make them not notice) for the first time after witnessing the crucifixion. He is just... tired. He doesn’t want to be recognized for what he is and he wants to separate himself from both heaven and hell. He feels guilty about what he has had to do and what he’s going to be asked to do, and when Aziraphale brightly asks him if he’s still a demon, he snaps back that what else would he be, an aardvark? Once again, with his usual sass/deflection, but he has never been more aware in his life about the fact that he is and he is going to be for eternity, and it’s killing him.

“I didn’t really fall, I just sauntered vaguely downwards.” Yet again. He’s dwelling on it, he’s repeating it to himself, he’s trying to get some comfort out of it, he’s justifying it to himself somehow. Because again, Crowley can’t talk to anyone about his feelings, especially not Aziraphale, who’s the only person that he has that kind of relationship with. Especially if he’s thinking about there ever being something between them, and the fact that Aziraphale seems until-now unshakable in his loyalty to heaven, no matter how infuriating they are. The fact that he constantly throws Crowley’s demon-ness in his face, trying to insist that they’re different and they have nothing in common and so forth (I love you Aziraphale, but You Are a Liar), can only salt the wound. The love of Crowley’s entire ineffable existence apparently can’t get over the fact that he’s Fallen, and I don’t think Crowley regards that as any kind of joke. It hurts him.

And then. AND THEN, the scene that kills me the MOST for many reasons. After the bookshop has burned down and Crowley is trying to drink himself into oblivion before the the world ends, the two things he’s drunkenly shouting at to nobody in particular are a) Falling, and b) losing Aziraphale. “I NEVER ASKED TO BE A DEMON!” he yells at a clientele of mildly confused day drinkers. “ONE DAY IT’S LUCIFER AND THE GUYS... OKAY.... AND THEN I’M PERFORMING A MILLION-LIGHT-YEAR DIVE INTO A POOL OF BURNING SULFUR.”

Just again: the one thing Crowley returns to, the only thing that he places on a level with losing Aziraphale, the one thing that’s tormenting him equally when he thinks the apocalypse is hours away and there’s no point in fighting anymore, is the fact that he never asked to Fall. He never asked to go through this pain, he never asked to be torn away from heaven and everything he used to believe in and fight for, he never asked to be who he is and do what he’s doing, and now that has cost him everything. It’s cost him Aziraphale, it’s cost him the world, it’s cost him the human race (as far as he knows) and it’s made him responsible for it. He can’t get around or avoid that fact. He didn’t ask to Fall, but he did, and he’s the one who has done all this for six thousand dirty, drudging years with the likes of Hastur and Ligur. He’s the one who took the Antichrist to the nuns and set all of this in motion. Not asking for it doesn’t excuse him, and he is more than aware of that.

Because. This is the demon who fell in love on the spot with an angel who was kind to him, who gave away a flaming sword to the original sinners rather than punish them with it and who held a wing over his head the first time it rained in Eden. Who constantly is asking why, why, why, whether of heaven or hell, and so rarely getting an answer that satisfies him. Who has thought about his Fall until he probably can’t think about it anymore and still hasn’t gotten an answer for that either. Who has reinvented himself constantly, been a chameleon, taken on the style and hair and fashion of every age, as if one of these days, he, like the snake he is, might shed enough skins to find something underneath that he can actually live with. Because right now, he can’t. No matter what he tries and what he looks like and no matter how fast he goes (too fast for said love of his life, apparently) he still can’t get away.

“I only ever asked questions... that’s all it took to be a demon in the old days.”

tl;dr, Crowley’s Fall was the worst trauma of his entire existence and he still hasn’t really dealt with it and one of these days he might just lose it a little and deeply alarm Aziraphale, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

#good omens #crowley #you dramatic demon bitch #letmetellyouaboutmyfeels #ask

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ineffably-effable · 5 years

Text

Come up and see me (make me smile)

Golgotha, 33 AD

Summary: Golgotha, 3004 BC.

Word count: 1934 words

AN: Continues on from the role-reversal au started in Come up and see me (make me smile)

Thanks again to @mia-ugly for being a wonderful and supportive beta reader.

(read on ao3)

Six hours.

That was how long he suffered before death finally took him.

Six. Fucking . Hours.

(“They call it crucifixion.” Aziraphale had told him once - centuries ago, in a Persian tavern - eyes downcast, as his fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm on the jar of wine in his hands. “They hammer seven-inch nails between the wrist bones to suspend the body’s weight then, over time, the force wrenches the shoulders from their sockets and crushes the rib cage.” he explained flatly. “The condemned is kept in excruciating pain until they suffocate or their heart gives out.“ The demon drank deeply from the jar. "It can last for hours, even days depending on the method.” He looked up, meeting Crowley’s eyes for the first time that evening. “Every time I think I’ve seen the full extent of their barbarity - every blessed time - they find a way to outdo themselves.“)

Unlike Aziraphale, this was the first crucifixion Crowley had attended. Although the demon’s description had been accurate Crowley found it hadn’t prepared him for the actual experience.

In fairness to the demon, Crowley wasn’t sure words existed that could fully convey the experience as well as agonized screams were able to.

Crowley hadn’t attended the trial or the sentencing, it felt pointless when he knew what the outcome would be. He had however attempted to miracle the man impervious to pain. (It seemed like the least he could do). Crowley had felt it take effect with some satisfaction, and then felt it being reverted immediately with annoyance. He tried two more times before he received a strongly-worded communication (i.e. Gabriel yelling directly into his brain) that any further interference would be treated as grounds for Crowliel’s removal from earth. A follow-up from Michael (rather less yelling, but still headache-inducing) warned Crowley that crucifixion had been chosen especially for its brutality (to establish a “convincingly sympathetic religious symbol”) and that he should keep an eye out for demonic interference instead of being a nuisance.

Well, that was him told .

He arrived at Golgotha just as the procession made its way to the base of the skull-shaped rock. Aziraphale spotted him shortly afterwards, the demon weaving through the crowd to take a place at Crowley’s side. They had both winced - and noticed the other doing so - as the centurion’s hammer was put to its purpose. Aziraphale threw Crowley a look as if to say ” well, this is certainly fucked up “ but otherwise remained silent.

As the mourners wailed, and the three men grew more delirious from pain, Crowley wondered why his demonic counterpart was even there. Unlike other demons - Aziraphale was not the type to take pleasure from others’ suffering, yet he also seemed disinclined to interfere. Instead he looked restless, he kept stealing uneasy glances skyward and at Crowley as though he were waiting for divine intervention.

Good luck with that. Crowely thought bitterly.

The hours passed, the sky darkened - Jesus finally, blessedly, died - and the bodies were brought down and carried away. The mourners and spectators gradually dispersed until it was just the two of them remaining, sitting side by side on a large bench-shaped rock the demon had miracled about three hours into the proceedings.

But now, Aziraphale had taken to his feet - he was pacing back and forth. Crowley watched him and found himself torn. Equal parts longing to start a conversation and unable to think of anything to say. Well, he could think of plenty to say, but there was a low-burning bitter fury in his gut - the type that led him to voice the sort of thoughts that worried his demonic friend. So he remained silent.

“Did you ever meet him?” Aziraphale asked, a little too suddenly, as if the question has been on the tip of his tongue for hours.

Crowley shook his head, still staring out at the now-empty wooden beams.

“I did once,” Aziraphale started, “I was assigned to tempt him to faithlessness.” Crowley looked up at that, and Aziraphale smiled wryly at his surprise. “I don’t think anyone below really expected it to take, they just felt like we should be seen to do something .”

“How did that work out for you?” Crowley asked, genuinely curious.

“He was exceptionally clever and stubbornly devout. How do you think it went?” Crowley smirked at him, and Aziraphale laughed. “I changed tactics of course. Debated theology and ethics with him until I was blue in the face - we had forty days so thought odds were good I might catch him in some form of hypocrisy. It was truly vexing. He gave the impression that I amused him.” Aziraphale seemed fond of the memory. “You would have liked him.”

Crowley didn’t doubt it.

“I’m sure I would have.”

(It was the reason he had avoided Nazareth since the annunciation. He may have been slow on the uptake - it might have taken forty years of pointless wandering with a tribe of doomed Israelites - but no one could say he didn’t learn from his mistakes. When the Almighty played favourites it was best not to get emotionally invested.

He felt an urge to confess that to Aziraphale, but suppressed it. Crowley was unsure whether Aziraphale would applaud his self-preservation or be disgusted with his cowardice.)

“Be kind to each other.” the demon said out of the blue, startling Crowley from his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“That’s what he said to anger them all.” The demon’s tone was inscrutable, but Crowley thought his words were an over-simplification.

“For my money, it was his knack for drawing crowds and threatening their authority.”

Aziraphale shook his head angrily.

“He was kind and they tortured him for it.” The demon’s voice had a hard edge to it. “He believed in Her and She abandoned him.” he spat.

Oh.

The demon turned his face away. Crowley heard his breathing hitch.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley didn’t know what to say, how to approach this type of anger. (A millennia-old question burned in his throat, one he desperately wanted answered but not at the cost of causing his friend more pain.)

“Do you think She felt anything when he cried out for Her?” the demon asked.

Crowley wanted badly to reach out and grasp Aziraphale’s hand within his own. Wanted to use that grip to pull the demon into his arms. Wanted to offer him whatever comfort he could. Wanted, but didn’t.

Coward.

His fingers twitched.

“Aziraphale, I-”

The demon turned to look at Crowley and studied him. He forced a smile.

“It’s alright dear.”

“No it’s…”

“Let’s not speak of it.” he says firmly. “I shouldn’t have sa-”.

“She’s bringing him back.” Crowley blurted out, stopping the demon in his tracks.

“What?”

“In three days, he’ll be resurrected. Then he’ll ascend to a seat by her side. She didn’t-” abandon him. Crowley cut himself off. “It wasn’t a punishment.” he said instead.

Aziraphale stared at him. Crowley stood, approaching the demon slowly as though he might bolt.

“I’m glad for him.” Aziraphale said finally, voice raw.

Liar. Crowley thought. His expression must give him away because Aziraphale’s lips twisted into a smile. “No, really. He didn’t deserve that.”

“No he didn’t.” Crowley stressed with absolute certainty, hoping he’d made himself clear. He received a sharp look in response.

“Don’t. I was indulging in self-pity and you shouldn’t humour me- just don’t.”

Crowley raised both hands placatingly.

“OK I won’t.”

“Good.” Aziraphale pronounced.

A beat of awkward silence hung between them.

Aziraphale fumbled with his outer tunic and produced a leather pouch. He unfastened the tie and held it out to Crowley. “Apricot?”

Crowley stared at him blankly.

“You brought snacks?“ (A small, easily dismissed, part of Crowley's brain delighted in how precious that was.)

“I always carry something,” the demon replied defensively. “And I haven’t eaten all day!”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “We don’t need to eat.”

Aziraphale shrugged and stuffed a few apricots into his mouth. “It does feel awfully good though.” he responded, while chewing. The innocent pleasure on his face cheered Crowley considerably.

“Oh go on,” he held a hand out.

Aziraphale grinned, and dumped five or six pieces onto Crowley’s palm. Then the cheeky bastard laughed.

“Who knew tempting an angel would be so easy?”

Crowley stared at the dried fruit in his hand and then back at the demon. He picked up a piece and regarded it carefully, enjoying the weight of Aziraphale’s anticipation. Then, he pelted it at him. He grinned at the demon’s surprised yelp.

“Will you stay here long?” Crowley asked innocently, entertained by the way Aziraphale was warily eyeing the remaining apricots in his hand.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Received orders last night, it’s Rome for me. You?”

Crowley popped the rest of the dried fruit in his mouth. “Here for the time being,” he replied, chewing thoughtfully, “although Heaven knows I should look in on the empire if you’ve been left there unattended.”

Aziraphale groaned at the familiar jibe.

“It’s been over five decades, surely we can move past this?"

"Of course, as soon as you stop insulting my intelligence and just admit what you did.”

“You have no proof whatsoever.”

“Four years of you whinging about Alexandria, then his senators turn on him the very week you arrive in the city.”

"Coincidence?” Aziraphale offered sheepishly.

“Try again.”

“Divine justice?”

Crowley glared at him. Aziraphale gave him a charming smile.

“It really was a beautiful library.”

Crowley tried to maintain the glare, but failed miserably. Completely unable to contain an amused huff.

He turned to look in the east, where the sun was beginning to rise. “I should probably be off soon.”

“Go on, I’m planning to fly to Jaffa from here anyway.”

Crowley hung back. Though the demon had hinted at his other form several times Crowley had never seen it.

“You know you can transform in front of me right? I wouldn’t think less of you for it.”

“Oh I know that,” the demon responded far too quickly, “it’s just not very impressive that’s all.”

“I don’t mind.”

Aziraphale looked uncomfortable. “They’re meant to be a bad omen, I wouldn’t want to curse you inadvertently.”

Crowley smirked.

“I’ll take my chances.”

Aziraphale sighed and then changed. Shrinking rapidly, his black and white curls morphed into brown and white feathers. His yellow eyes were the only part of him that remained the same. Crowley stretched out a hand and Aziraphale flew up to perch on it. He couldn’t have been more than eight inches tall.

“You’re adorable.” Crowley raised a finger to stroke the downy patch underneath his beak and received a (gentle peck).

“I’m formidable.” The owl grumbled back.

“You’re so little.” Another peck, this time sharper. “None of that now.” Crowley chastised. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t show this form off more, you’re very handsome like this.”

“Oh handsome ‘like this’ am I? Thank you very much.” Crowley tried not to laugh as the annoyed demon literally ruffled its feathers.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Your eyes are always very striking, demon.”

“I’ll see you in Rome, angel . That is if you can bear to see my hideous human form."

That did make Crowley laugh. "You’re just fishing for compliments now.” he stroked Aziraphale’s head, somewhat surprised the demon was allowing such an affectionate gesture. The owl made a happy sounding trill noise which it cut off abruptly - as though it had taken him by surprise. Without another word the demon head-butted Crowley’s fingers away and flew off.

Crowley watched until Aziraphale disappeared from view before he made his way back to the town.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fic #good omens role reversal #role reversal au #reversed omens #demon!aziraphale #angel!crowley #my writing

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hekate1308 · 5 years

Text

Owe No One Anything, Chapter Eight

Chapter Seven

Even knowing that Aziraphale and he shared a long history, Crowley was somewhat taken aback by the clarity of the angel’s memories. Not because he had feared that they would be gone – although he had – but because there were some he had had no idea of.

He shuddered when he realized where he’d landed in his attempt to find the angel. 1348. There was a reason he’d told Hastur once he would have loved the fourteenth century.

They’d been dropping like flies from the Plague, and there’d been nothing he could do to make it better. So he’d performed small miracles, like tempting a rich man to be able to boast to his friends that he was a benefactor of mankind in order to make him give bread to a poor, sick family and passing them as successes to his bosses downstairs.

He didn’t think he and Aziraphale had met during the plague years, so he was about to turn away since he needed to find him in here somewhere, when he suddenly saw himself enter a house and the angel noticing from across the street.

Of course Aziraphale had been in the middle of it, too; he’d probably healed people even though Heaven wouldn’t have wanted that.

But why…

He saw Aziraphale follow him quietly, apparently intent on finding out what he was doing; and Crowley, temporarily forgetting why he was there, moved automatically to see what happened, mostly because he was confused why Aziraphale hadn’t let him know he’d come across him.

His stomach clenched when he recognized the house. He remembered that.

A family of five, all dead but for a little girl, who’d be the last one to go at sunset.

He knew that because he’d stayed until then, unable to let her face death alone.

He watched Azriphale watch himself through the window. He didn’t need to listen to remember.

“Mummy” she whispered desperately.

“You’ll be seeing her soon, sweetheart” Crowley said while wiping the sweat of her forehead and glancing at the bed where her mother had breathed her last just a short time ago, “I promise.”

What took Crowley aback was the look on Aziraphale’s face.

They had wasted even more time by not being honest with one another than he had thought.

That reminded him.

Time to move on.

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Crowley quickly made his way through more and more memories; then, suddenly realizing that he was going nowhere, he reluctantly stopped and thought.

There had to be something he could do, something that would bring him closer.

And then he remembered a children’s movie he had watched in cinema when it first came out, of all things.

Core memories. There had to be memories that were more important to Aziraphale than others. If they were embedded deeper into his mind, then they must lead to him eventually.

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The first memory he realized was important – from the sheer feel of it, the affection Aziraphale had for it was palpable – was of a small creperie in Paris in 1793.

“And” his past self was currently asking the angel, “Was that worth almost being discorporated for?”

“Oh my dear, they are simply marvellous! You must try one of them –“

“I don’t see why I should take one away from you, since you’re enjoying them so much.”

Present Crowley, meanwhile, was marvelling at the fact that he’d forgotten this was the first time Aziraphale had called him dear.

He smiled at the angel happily devouring his crepes, then realized he was just presenting a mirror image of the demon sitting across from him and hurried on.

Yes. This must be the right path.

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And so he went on for he would never be able to say how long, determined to find his angel or die trying.

The memories that came up where almost exclusively of him and Aziraphale – with a few exceptions of miracles he’d performed and apparently been especially proud of, and small wonder, given how he had apparently convinced young Mozart to study extra hard.

Still, though.

Mostly, Aziraphale’s most treasure memories were of him and Crowley.

Crowley made a mental note to tell him that, could he see inside his head, it would look something like this, too.

Although perhaps not quite in that order.

After their crepes – well, he supposed he could call it a date now – there came the Crucifixion of all things. He didn’t quite understand until he realized that had been the first time when he’d openly admitted doing a good thing to Aziraphale. After all, he hadn’t really tempted Jesus like downstairs had wanted. He had just shown him the world, let him have a bit of fun. He’d deserved it, knowing what would come afterwards.

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Another memory.

The two of them in the Globe theatre, watching Hamlet. The angel was munching away on some grapes, of course, looking pleased at the audience that had congregated.

Personally Crowley still didn’t like the gloomy ones, but it had been worth it just to see Aziraphale smile like that.

“You have to admit he’s wonderful” Aziraphale sighed, his eyes fixed on Burbage.

“Oh yes, wonderful” Crowley echoed, although he was definitely not looking at the actor, his attention focused elsewhere.

Seriously, how had they gotten this so wrong for six thousand years?

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The next memory that felt as if it was of immense significance surprised Crowley somewhat, mostly because it had taken place only a few weeks ago and didn’t seem in any way particularly interesting to him.

They were lounging on the sofa, Aziraphale lost in a book as usual, with Crowley occasionally glancing towards the pages.

Well, obviously. Despite his attempts to make the angel believe that he didn’t do books, he liked to read now and then. Just now and then, mind.

“So what are you reading anyway, angel?”

He looked up and stared at him through his spectacles, clearly needing a moment to return from whatever literary heights the question had pulled him from. “Oh. It’s Stefan Zweig. An –“

“Austrian writer. I’m not that naive, angel. Early to middle of the twentieth century.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Yes! What he has to say about Marie-Antoinette may be incredibly inaccurate, but his language –“

“Would you read to me?” Crowley asked lazily, stretching out so he lay with his head in Aziraphale’s lap. “Too tired to read it myself.”

A pause. When this had happened, Crowley had already closed his eyes to focus on his angel’s voice, so that he hadn’t seen his expression; but now, his heart beat faster when he saw the obvious love in Aziraphale’s face as he began to read and simultaneously run his fingers through his hair.

Crolwey had dozed off one or two chapters in, but he hadn’t minded.

He swallowed and hastened away. If he wanted to make more of those memories, he had to find him.

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Not-Crowley was strangely insistent today. Normally, he left Azriaphale alone after a while, but he’d all but carried him back to the book shop and was now actually busy making tea. He hadn’t bothered to do that since Aziraphale had figured out that this wasn’t real. “What are you doing?”

“You like tea.”

“Yes but it’s not real.”

He sighed. “How often do I have to tell you this is as real as you want it to be.”

“Not at all, then.”

“Again – it’s only a matter of time until they get him out there. You could just stop worrying and enjoy this. You enjoyed the time before you realized, didn’t you?”

He couldn’t deny that he had – he still felt guilty that he had somewhat betrayed Crowley. But certainly the demon would understand once he explained it to him.

He groaned. “Seriously? You still believe that he’ll show up?”

As a matter of fact, Aziraphale was growing more and more convinced that he would. Because there had to be a reason that Not-Corley was still there. And if he was at least partially in his mind to keep him here and growing more desperate…

I am waiting, dear. Don’t worry, I’m holding on.

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Ah. The thwarted Apocalypse. This was one of Crowley’s favourite memories too – mainly because Aziraphale had finally admitted that they were on their own side.

He only gave it a passing glance.

He was getting closer.

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What the –

He hopped around. Why was this –

Oh. The church. Crowley, who’d been working for British counterintelligence back then (and made sure not too many Londoners became victims of the bombs while selling his job to headquarters as planning a few war crimes) hadn’t even stopped to think when he’d learned about the Nazi spies who were tricking Aziraphale.

What he had not been aware of was the look on Aziraphale’s face as he was already walking towards the car.

Crowley recognized that feeling. It had really hit him in a blazing bookstore, but of course it had been building up for much longer, most likely since Eden…

Yes. Now he was getting close. There was no other explanation.

I’m coming, angel.

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“What was that?” Aziraphale asked. He’d busied himself with reading, ignoring not-Crowley; but that last sentence had sounded different than his usual chatter, somehow…

“I wasn’t saying anything since you aren’t listening anyway” he sulked.

Aziraphale glanced at him. He looked… worried?

And that voice…

He’d heard it clear as a bell. I’m coming, angel.

Why would not-Crowley say something like that?

He wouldn’t.

But that meant…

His love must be near.

His heart beating wildly with hope, he got up and put the book away. Time to start to think about a way to deal with not-Crowley.

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Yes. This had to be it. This had to be the last memory.

Crowley knew because – well, it was his favourite, too.

The night after the world had failed to end. The night where Aziraphale finally went home with him and actually took his hand on the bus ride, palm pressed against palm…

He’d then and there sworn to himself that he was never letting go again.

And he wasn’t about to.

Currently, he was staring at them trying very hard to tell each other what they needed to hear on his sofa. Oh Go- oh Satan, had he really stammered that much?

He sighed with relief as Aziraphale gently took off his glasses and said “I understand, dear.”

Of course the angel had been the first of them to lean in for a kiss. Say what you want, but once Aziraphale had made up his mind (even if it took him millennia sometimes) he always acted quickly on it.

And then, for the first time, he saw a door. Until now, the memories had simply followed one after the other without any transition being needed.

He saw it as a good sign and went to open it.

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The important part was that he had to be very careful how to get rid of not-Crowley. There had to be some of his memories of the demon in there, if only to prove the delusion; so he couldn’t just eliminate him. That might have caused problems, not to mention possibly made him forget a few things about Crowley, and he couldn’t allow that.

How to extract all of that, though, that was the problem…

Well, it was his mind. And he remembered what the angels had done to him. Sort of. He shuddered at the thought of doing that to another person – to Crowley – but then, this wasn’t a person, was it? It was a representation of an abstract concept in his mind.

“Angel, it’s cold; why don’t you get away from that window?”

There was something in his voice, something strange and disheartening…

Almost as if he was growing even more nervous. But this was just a street in his mind, so –

And then Aziraphale saw him.

On the street.

Running towards the bookshop.

“Crowley!” he burst out, trying to go and meet him, but being held back by not-Crowley.

“Did you really think” he said quietly, “That it was going to be so easy?”

Chapter Nine

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #aj crowley #my writings

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sleepymarmot · 5 years

Text

Good Omens 1-3

...Yeah, I decided to watch it. Didn’t take long, did it.

The opening sequence is like a bad infographic

Crowley's hair in the Eden scene looks like cat ears, fits right in with the cosplay eye lenses

So like one of the few actually funny gags in the book, Freddie Mercury's voice suddenly shifting into a message from Hell, was deemed unfilmable, huh? I don't know what I expected... :/

Hey is it just me or does Michael Sheen have surprisingly good Japanese pronunciation in his one short line lol

Good thing the series explained the baby mixup better than the book, both by explaining upfront what the original plan was, and specifying why Mary got the room wrong (because Crowley misunderstoon it first and told her, which isn't in the book). The card-dealing intercuts are unnecessary and cheesy, though.

Nice gag about Crowley being inconvenienced by his own trick

I still don't understand, is the implication that Crowley has been dyeing his hair since the dawn of time? What's up with these wigs with dark roots & dark eyebrows and stubble?

Drunk fictional characters are as unbearable as drunk real life people

Glad they cut out the bird-and-mountain bit. That belongs to Doctor Who now. I can't imagine listening to another Scottish Dr Who tell this story and being asked to take it seriously

Ew, refilling the bottles with the wine they've drunk? Gross!

The "Wait, starting a family actually sounds nice, I do want to raise a child together with you :)" vibe is much clearer than in the book

Were the nanny and the gardener supposed to be literally Crowley and Aziraphale in disguise in the book too? I assumed they were just some contacts they hired...

Why this "comical" music when Aziraphale starts doing tricks... They could have as well randomly played a laugh track. Hate this. Why are British directors always doing this to me?

Putting all the scenes about Newton and Anathema and their ancestors in one sequence sure makes them easier to follow

However was it that the crew made the plants tremble, I'm sure they laughed a lot while doing it

Really silly that Aziraphale has to look up what the Number of the Beast is

Excuse me, are "Crawly" and "Crowley" supposed to sound different? My non-native-speaker ears can't detect it.

Was this... overly graphic crucifixion scene... really necessary??

Ah, the sweet backstory, the actual reason I'm watching this series... Sheen's Extreme Heart Eyes kill me every time.

Fuckin. Romantic string music playing while Aziraphale is holding the books with a completely lovestuck expression on his face

I like Crowley's Lennon look actually

"You go too fast for me, Crowley" -- I felt a great disturbance in the fandom, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out "It's been six thousand years!!!!"

Can we... stop spending screentime on the Witchfinders... please.....

Famine's introduction was better in the book. I really appreciate the trimming down of sections with one-off characters, but "What the Horsemen of the Apocalypse are like in the modern world" was actually one of the good parts of worldbuilding that deserved its page count. I figured that the bit with the anorexic model would be censored out, but what was left didn't feel adequate at all. War's section was better. Also I liked how the book trusted us to figure out who they are before declaring it, while the series smacks unnecessary title cards right into your face.

#good omens #liveblogs and reviews #blah blah blah #lava klanka is watching you

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nothing-personal-my-dear · 6 years

Text

Spartacus : Vengeance Rewatch - Episode 7: Sacramentum

Sex Scene: there’s like 4 whole scenes in a whorehouse, all the sex is happening here.

“Cock”: 5

“Cunt”: 1

“Kill Them All”:

“Fucking Gaul”: 1

Slow motion Face Punch: 2

Episode Name Dropped by: Glaber

Memorable Death: MARCIA (for my heart), Sedullus (because brains).

Favourite Line: “I rival any fucking man, in all things.”

- I have basically one clear memory of this episode. AGRON IN THAT HOODED CLOAK IN THE RAIN SMIRKING FOR ALL HE’S WORTH! Hot damn, I am excited for that scene!

- Holy shit, Agron is even hotter in this scene than I remembered!!!

- Ahh! Donar helping to free the Germans! I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, you can pry German Donar from my cold dead hands!

- I love me some silent killing.

- GERMAN SPEAKING AGRON GIVES ME SO MANY DAMN FEELS!!!! Seriously, when was the last time he spoke his native language? Does he do it with Donar? Was the last time with Duro? According to history slaves weren’t allowed to speak their native language, so maybe it’s been longer than his captivity. SO MANY FEELS.

- The way Sedullus looks when telling Agron the other guard also speaks German, it almost looks like a test, like he wants Agron to prove himself first.

- SAXA BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- Lucius kills someone, I’m oddly proud!

- That face slice though.

- Sedullus is just …. He’s the reason Germans are given a bad name, you can see it already.

- LUGO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH DAMN, HES SO PRECIOUS! I forgot he spoke English (though really, I’m assuming their speaking latin) in Vengeance, I thought he was mainly all German until WotD.

- “Cock” in German, still counts!

- AGRON’S SMILE! CALLING THE GERMAN’S BROTHER! HE IS SO HAPPY! FUCK!

- OH THIS, THIS I REMEMEBR, AND I FUCKING HATE IT! By “this” I mean Sparty and his jealous suspicions of Agron. Sparty has such a double standard with Crixus and Agron. Crixus is allowed to be the leader of the Gauls with Sparty having basically no say in the matter, but the second Agron wants the same fucking treatment Sparty throws a hissy fit! I’m not trying to be biased, I can see there could be legitimate concers for Sparty with the Germans, as in Agron might separate from the cause and do his own thing with the Germans. BUT, the reason I have such an issue with this whole thing is that Crixus gets to do the same fucking thing BUT HE STILL GETS SPARTACUS’ RESPECT AND LOYALTY! Agron gets none of that, ever. I could write a fucking essay on this subject. To sum up, fuck you Sparty.

- That Eagle is fucking majestic!

- Okay, I have always liked Gallienus, he’s kinda adorable.

- I wonder if Ashur feels a little sorry for what happened to Seppius when he sees Seppia crying. I mean she’s basically still a kid and she has no one, it’s hard not to feel for that.

- Does Gannicus believe Glaber’s speech or does he recognise the propaganda for what it is? In other words, a load of shit.

- Love how all the women around Glaber look empty, depressed, absolutely crushed.

- Poor Thessela, you can see the betrayal in her eyes when Ilithyia lies. Poor baby.

- That crucifixion is pretty intense.

- Okay I’ve been doing a hell of a lot of research on Spartacus (and Ancient Rome in general) but I now know the names of some background characters. Hey there Lydon patrolling the wall ;)

- Crixus looks so damn attractive when sparring with Naevia, I think it’s because he doesn’t look angry when he’s fighting her. He looks calm and focused, it’s very sexy.

- LOOK AT THAT LITTLE SMILE!!!!! CRIXUS IS SO PROUD OF NAEVIA!!!!!

- NASIR AND MIRA FRIENDSHIP!!!! We were robbed!!

- Oh, you can see Mira’s heart breaking. She’s not a fool, she knows Spartacus doesn’t love her.

- Oenomaus and Nasir shaking hands……..WHEN THE HELL HAVE YOU TWO ACTUALLY MET?!?!?!

- Oenomaus should smile more though, it’s so damn beautiful.

- I wanna cry!!!!! Every one is so happy to see Oenomaus, and he’s looking all proud of his children!!!! I NEED SOME TISSUES!

- I seriously cannot get over the amount of love I have for Agron kissing Nasir in front of his kin without any hesitation!!! All the feels man.

- I like that Mira keeps on smiling genuinely when the Germans are brought in. She doesn’t care that she can’t understand them, there is no suspicion in her eyes, she accepts them. Unlike Crixus and Oenomaus.

- Nemetes (you fuck) looks at Sedullus with heart eyes.

- Agron introducing Nasir to the Germans, Nasir smiling and shaking hands with all of them!!! MY HEART CANNOT TAKE THIS! Nasir feeling more comfortable with the Germans for the simple fact that they are Agron’s kin, it’s fucking beautiful. I just wanna stay in this happy little family without all the drama.

- LUGO PICKS UP NASIR IN A HUGE BEAR HUG WITH SAXA SMILING AT THEM BOTH!!!!! THIS IS THE DAMN FRIENDSHIP I ALWAYS WANTED!!!!!! AHHHHHH!!!!!! There was like a split second hint of this threesome in WotD, BUT I DIDN’T KNOW WE GOT IT RIGHT AWAY!!!!!!

- “Who will they follow?” SERIOUSLY CRIXUS ALL THE GAULS FOLLOW YOU NOT SPARTY AND YOU KNOW IT. fuck this whole jealously shit.

- “Yes Dominus.” Oh fuck. Oh fuck. That is the most heart breaking, soul shattering thing Lucretia could ever say. fuck. Ashur needs to die all the time.

- Talking about yourself in third person isn’t a sign of sanity Ashur (I will vehemently ignore Lugo’s desire to refer to himself as such, he’s my baby).

- Oh the wig, poor Lucretia. But the red colour had nothing to do with Quintus, it was all about Gaia right?

- How deluded is Ashur, how can he think Lucretia is falling for him, how can he think this is real? He is raping her.

- Holy crap, Ilithyia is actually lying on that chair!! We hardly ever see the Roman’s lying on the chairs in the way they are historically supposed to!

- I may not really like Seppia, but hot damn she is so SO attractive and especially in black. She should always wear her hair down, she’s gorgeous.

- Does Ilithyia at least suspect that Glaber had a hand in Seppius’ murder?

- Glaber has wanted Seppius’ men for fucking ages, but they don’t look like much….

- I killed your leader, I forced you to come here, I conscripted you, I basically fucking own you….now swear your loyalty. -___- Do Romans not understand how to earn loyalty?

- I really love it when Ilithyia isn’t playing games with Lucretia, like she genuinely really cares for her. That little smile, her soft voice. Shipper heart is sailing. (I just wish that Lucretia felt the same dammit)

- Is Lucretia wearing the same dress she wore last episode? Or does she suddenly have 2 navy blue dresses when she’s never worn that colour ever before.

- Seppia’s body slave is an older woman, I really like this idea.

- “I seek vengeance.” –Get in line Seppia.

- The Seppia / Glaber stuff is gross.

- “I now gaze into his eyes and tremble at lurks behind them.”

- Oh gods, Ilithyia and Lucretia talking about the cliff….yikes! But also, I mean it’s basically canon that these two are together right? They basically confess their love every chance they get (in their own fucked up way).

- No one should look that happy with their hand inside an animal carcass pulling out organs. That’s just weird Agron.

- OMG I WANNA CRY HE IS SO HAPPY TO BE SURROUNDED BY KIN!

- Oh fuck shit. You can see the moment Agron gets it, when he realises that Crixus will always be above him in Spartacus’ eyes. He could offer Spartacus Glaber’s head and Sparty would find fault with it. This is the moment when I feel so much for Agron. All he’s ever wanted was for Sparty to trust and respect him, as he trusts and respects Spartacus, but it’s never going to happen.

- “I give you my word.” –THE LOOK ON SPARTACUS’ FACE WHEN AGRON SAYS THIS. FUCK YOU SPARTY!

- Dude I really ship Gannicus and Marcia!

- OMG GANNI ASKED MARCIA TO JOIN HIM!!!!!!!!!!AHH!!!

- Fucking Ashur.

- OMG look at how they clutch at each other, I SHIP IT SO DAMN MUCH! Actually might be the only woman I ship Ganni with!

- Ganni insulting Ashur is a beautiful thing.

- “Gannicus has always been a man of few words.” LUCRETIA LOOKS SO FUCKING AMUSED, I LOVE IT.

- Comparing Ganni to a Phoenix, I can dig it.

- Can I just say that Craig Parker is a phenomenal actor. His voice and his movements are so much darker and slower than they were in s1, it’s like his whole body has switched with Glaber’s darkness. It’s truly amazing. Kudos!

- “Ashur’s talents are of the shadows.”

- Ganni don’t lie, you never stop craving the roar of the crowd.

- Mummy and Daddy talking about the kids, it’s so sweet.

- I’m confused though, now suddenly Sparty is on Agron’s side?!

- “Absent choice,” –those words get to me every time.

- Please stop talking about hypothetical Agron death!

- Seriously Ilithyia totally thought Lucretia was talking about double suicide, AND SHE WAS ALL FOR IT. shit man.

- Also, I super don’t find Lucretia slitting her wrist at all traumatic. Is that what all the blood and gore in this show does to you? I don’t actually mind.

- FUCK. YOU. ASHUR!

- I actually don’t like Oenomaus and Sparty being buddy buddy…and like, just beucase his wife cheated on him suddenly Oenomaus is all for Sparty’s cause?!?! I just feel like there were some conversations missing.

- Oh look how quickly Agron loses his smile when Sparty comes around!

- “I’m glad I risked my life for this lot,” – I love salty Lucius.

- “I tire of hiding like frightened rabbits.” –why is it always the rabbits?

- CRIXUS CALLING AGRON PUP HURTS MY FUCKING SOUL BECAUSE HE USED TO CALL DURO PUP!!!!!!!HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!! AND THEN HE TALKS ABOUT WILD DOGS, WHEN THAT’S WHAT PEOPLE CALL NASIR!!!!!! FUUUUUUCCKKKK!!!! This brings a whole new meaning to hitting below the belt.

- You can really see how hurt Agron is by all this, and I know the leaving early was on purpose and he was being petty but shit man, after all he’s put up with he deserves a moment to act like an idiot. the thing is, is that no one seems to see that he’s grown. He’s not the angry boy he was when he was GRIEVING HIS FUCKING BROTHER WHO WAS HIS FUCKING HEART. He’s healing and growing and genuinely wants to see their people safe and free, but everyone is stuck on him being angry and impulsive when drowning in grief. Give the boy a fucking break.

- Seriously the amount of shit I can spew about Agron is endless.

- MARCIA BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- “What would you have me do? Take up offer and turn on those I once called brother?”

- “The whole world has slipped from reason.” –and it just keeps slipping and slipping.

- I love that Lucretia’s plan give all the info for Ganni’s own plan.

- LUGO TAKING ON SEDULLUS! I LOVE IT!

- Fuck me, every time Agron looks so happy at his Germans I get all warm and fuzzy. LET AGRON BE HAPPY!

- OMG NASIR IS SO HAPPY TO SEE AGRON HAPPY! I LOVE IT!

- The wrestling is fucking beautiful, and everyone happy and smiling is beautiful.

- Seriously what is going on with Crixus? He’s super fucking depressed and not even Naevia’s smile is helping. He has his heart back and she is fighting to regain herself, but he had more life in him when she was gone. What gives?

- Lugo is fucking tragic. I love him.

- Lugo making friends with Oenomaus, it’s precious.

- WHY CAN’T THESE PEOPLE JUST GIVE THE GERMANS A FUCKING CHANCE!

- “Would that we were never parted.” – my heart is fluttering.

- Oh my scheming wives.

- It’s like, for one second you actually like Sedullus and it seems like he just wants everyone to get along, BUT THEN THE FUCKER TOUCHES NAEVIA! YOU DEAD BOY!

- Naevia’s fighting face is beautiful.

- I FUCKING LOVE THAT AGRON IS THE ONE TO RUN UP THE SECOND HE NOTICES NAEVIA IS IN TROUBLE!!!!!!

- “Now I fuck the other side of you pretty little face.” –I dunno if I’m just being dumb, but I don’t understand this….like she one has one face, and there’s only one hole of someone’s face you can fuck……I’m so confused.

- Fuck you Crixus for finding it funny that Agron is getting beat up.

- Also, can no one tell that this isn’t a fight for fun??

- I’m sorry but everytime Lugo is on screen I shout “LUGO” in my mind.

- OH WHAT, Nasir has on this super intense (and fucking gorgeous) face when Lugo starts fighting.

- HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!! AH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM ACTUALLY SCREAMING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WE GOT A FUCKING HISS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT WAS BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!!!!! AH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- Okay but in all this tumbling and fighting, what the fuck happened to Agron. One minute he was on the ground under Sedullus, now he disappeared?!

- I love this huge brawl more than anything. BUT I have issue with pairing Mira and Saxa together. They do it because they are both females and it’s a huge feminist thing right? (I ain’t hating on feminism at all here) but Saxa is a fighter with immense skill and Mira is not, at all. She is just learning how to fight, she’s nowhere near the level that Saxa is. It seems stupid to pair them together just because they are both girls. It’s almost an insult to Saxa, she should be fighting someone as skilled as she is.

- Sparty and Oenomaus taking shit down with one hit is everything!

- Despite everything I said about Saxa and Mira fighting, seeing Mira kicking ass is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen! QUEEN MIRA!

- Agron has suddenly materialized from nowhere to fight Sedullus again, okay sure.

- Oh shit, dude right over the fire.

- There is the briefest of seconds were I’m worried for Agron’s life, and clearly so is he!

- Seriously, I get so annoyed with the editing sometimes. One clip, Agron is on his back, next clip he’s on all fours, clip after that he’s on his back again. C’mon people!

- Where is Nasir though? Who did he end up fighting? Did he win? Did he aggravate his wounds?

- That face slicing though is fucking brutal. Holy shit. I remember when I first saw it I had a few moments of “oh that’s gross”, then it was “shit that’s kinds cool”, to “super fake but I appreciate the shot”. Now all I can think is that it’s so fucking extra. SERIOUSLY, Spartacus has no idea why the fight broke out, he honestly has no reason to kill Sedullus but he does it anyways……. I don’t think that’s a good leader, even if it does work in Sparty’s favour.

- Also that brain is a little stupid.

- OH I SEE NASIR, I have no idea who he was fighting though.

- I fucking hate the look Sparty gives Agron. He’s so clearly telling Agron that he is not in charge of the Germans….WHY DON’T YOU FUCKING DO THIS TO CRIXUS TOO!!!!

- Aww, Nasir’s all bloody. I’m weirdly proud!

- Also, Sparty’s speech about animals and being brothers ….. the rebels were fighting the German’s too, so is he calling the rebels animals too?

- Fuck, Agron’s speech. I’m not ready for the feels…. THE LOOK OF UTTER SURPIRISE ON SPARTACUS’ FACE WHEN AGRON DECLARES HIS LOYALTY MAKES ME KINDA MAD, Agron has never not been loyal to Sparty, fuck you Sparty.

- Agron basically renouncing his kin for Sparty….it honestly breaks my heart, and not in the good way. CAN’T AGRON JUST HAVE SOME HAPPINESS FOR ONCE!

- Ooohhh I love the way Lugo says “Sedullus”.

- “Lugo follow.” –guys, I seriously love Lugo.

- OH OH IT’S THE BEATING OF WEAPONS THING!!!!! SHIT MAN THE BROTHERHOOD DID THIS TO DURO WHEN HE PROVED HIMSELF AGAINST CRIXUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS EPISODE IS GIVING ME SO MANY DURO FEELS! WTF!!!!! I’M SO EMOTIONAL!

- Agron beating his chest, what a sweetie.

- Oooohhhhhh I see you Nemetes! Shit, I never saw him being so hesitant and wary and not actually giving a shit about Spartacus and his cause….i thought this whole Nemetes being a dick was a WotD thing, BUT IT STARTS FROM THE FUCKIGN BEGINNING. Shit man, I feel like there’s so much of this show that I missed.

- Why is Ganni always at a whorehouse.

- Seriously what is with all these blue dresses lately?! BUT LUCRETIA IS A FUCKING GODDESS WALKING THE HALLS WITH THE FLOWY DRESS!

- I don’t even have words for Seppia and Glaber sex.

- I’m smiling so much at how brutal everything is, and seeing Ganni fight always makes me smile.

- “Gannicus has made his decision.” –and in such a beautiful way. I love how he killed Ashur’s guy, it was beautiful and him giving up the Rudis is also beautiful and in this one moment in time I really like Ganni.

- I have the urge to watch GotA now.

- Lucretia should stop scheming with anyone but Ilithyia. All these men she tries to persuade do the exact opposite of what she wants.

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confrontingbabble-on · 6 years

Link

“Some of the world’s largest religions emerged during the Iron Age, and the rules in their sacred texts likely helped families and communities (or at least some subset) to thrive under Iron Age conditions. Today, we live under very different conditions. We know things our ancestors didn’t. We hold powers and face challenges they could not have imagined.

Here are a few of the moral mandates from the Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity and Islam) that some people still practice on religious grounds but that a growing number of others consider morally dubious given our current circumstances and knowledge.

Hitting children—The Hebrew Bible instructs parents to beat their children, most explicitly in Proverbs 23: “Do not withhold discipline from a child; if you punish them with the rod, they will not die. Punish them with the rod and save them from death.” Traditional Muslim teachings exhort parents to beat boys if they don’t pray regularly by the age of seven.

Research in psychology contradicts this advice, pointing to few if any developmental benefits and an increased risk of aggression in children who are hit. Parenting experts suggest better means of raising children and managing misbehavior. Even religious leaders who may feel obliged to approve spanking because it is endorsed in their sacred texts (some of whom fiercely defend the god-given right of parents to hit their kids) now tend to send mixed messages and encourage other forms of discipline first.

Teaching children to rely on faith— Religions often treat faith or even religious certitude as a virtue. In fact, in Protestant Christianity it is the ultimate virtue, the one that sends people to heaven or hell. Believe and be saved, says the Christian New Testament, and one of the tenets of the Reformation was sola fide—by faith alone. Defenders of Christianity may marshal logic or evidence to support belief, but when backed into a corner, many default to I just know—and they teach children to do the same.

By contrast, modern cognitive science recognizes the sense of knowing as a feeling state that can be triggered under a wide variety of circumstances, not all of which have a basis in reality. Advocates for secularism argue that faith, by definition, means committing to a set of beliefs that are poorly grounded—or even contradict the best available evidence. We humans are prone to confirmation bias, for example, or self-serving “motivated” reasoning.

In belief-based religions like Christianity and Islam, doubt is seen as a sign of weakness or a moral failing, a sin. But knowing what we now know about human cognition, faith increasingly looks like a bad epistemology, a not-very-effective way of sifting what is real from what is not. By contrast, the scientific method has been called “What we know about how not to fool ourselves,” because it forces us to ask the questions that could show us wrong. Unlike faith in received dogma, the scientific method promotes a growth mindset. This is one reason that a growing number of people see religious indoctrination of children as an abuse of trust.

Restrictions on women’s movement and attire – Religious modesty and virginity rules for women emerged when a person’s place in society depended on paternal lineage. Women and men had no way of managing their fertility other than abstinence; and mama’s baby, papa’s maybe could create social havoc. Societies had a strong investment in controlling female fertility.

Modernity values people based on who they are, not on their lineage; and women now have reliable means to manage their fertility. Our life course need not be defined by the form of our genitalia. But male ownership of girls and women is so foundational in the Abrahamic traditions that conservative believers often find themselves most comfortable with gender hierarchy. Conservative Christians promote “male headship”—a version of separate-but-equal; conservative Muslims rationalize veiling—which (though it can mean different things to different believers) is rooted in male ownership of female sexuality; Orthodox Jews demand that women shave their heads and ride on separate sides of the bus.

Fortunately, although religions may slow cultural evolution, they rarely succeed in stopping it altogether. Even within conservative religious communities, leaders often claim that restrictive practices elevate women and offer them genuine equality. Their thinking may be Orwellian, but it is a far cry from that of the men who wrote the sacred texts, for whom male dominance and control of females was simply a given.

Pronatalism – “Be fruitful and multiply,” God tells man in the book of Genesis. Throughout the Bible, sons are seen as signs of God’s favor, the more the better. In the Christian New Testament book of 1 Timothy, readers are told that women, who brought sin into the world, will be saved by childbearing (2:15). The Roman Catholic Church, when it emerged, promoted a high birthrate—not among priests, which would have been a drain on church assets—but among lay practitioners, which added to the ranks of the faithful.

Today some devout Catholics and quiver-full Protestants (along with ultra-orthodox Jews and fundamentalist Muslims) still see bearing many children as a form of righteous submission to God’s will. They eschew family planning, taking a “let go and let God” approach to birth control. But as world population approaches eight billion, putting increasing pressure on natural resources and other species, many people now view large families the same way they might view gluttony. Most, including most religious believers, think it is more moral to take excellent care of a few children than to produce as many as possible.

Proselytizing mandates – Christianity tells believers to “make disciples of every creature,” and over the centuries Christians have sent missionaries to the far reaches of the planet, some willing to kill or die in order to win a “harvest” of converts. They have been celebrated as saints and martyrs, or in modern times as altruistic heroes. But many people now see cross-cultural proselytizing as a form of imperialism that disrespects the complexity of indigenous and foreign cultures.

To make matters more morally dubious, missionaries often leverage their superior access to information and wealth—enticing conversion by bundling evangelism with desperately-needed food, medical care, education or crisis services. To a missionary who sees the threat of hell as the ultimate risk and the promise of heaven as the ultimate good, the ends may justify the means; but outsiders see exploitation of power differentials, which most ethical codes discourage. Some countries now limit or constrain missionary activities to protect vulnerable communities and people.

Kosher slaughter rules – In the Torah, God commands that animals be slaughtered according to religious rules, and over time Jewish scholars fleshed these out. The animal is to have its throat slit with a very sharp knife that has no defects. It must be conscious at the time of the cut and must die from blood loss. These rules may have originally had health value for humans or animal welfare value for livestock, but with the availability of modern stunning, they have become controversial. Stunning animals immediately before slaughter can reduce suffering. Many Muslims think that Halal slaughter rules similarly prohibit stunning, but there is disagreement among Muslim scholars about this. Some animal welfare watchdog groups in Europe and the U.S. have advocated the banning of Kosher and Halal slaughter, while others are working to improve the practices in ways that reduce fear or suffering before and during slaughter.

Capital punishment – The human history of killing offenders goes back almost to the beginnings of written history. Death by axe, death by being thrown into a quagmire, death by beheading (which is where we get the term capital punishment), by boiling, by stoning . . . Over the millennia, all manner of death has been meted out for all manner of offences. The Hebrew Bible prescribes death for almost 30 transgressions ranging from murder and kidnapping to blasphemy and sassing, and the Quran is similarly enthusiastic about execution. (You can compare both texts here, or find out here if you deserve death according to the Bible.) Building on the Abrahamic tradition of blood atonement, the central premise of New Testament Christianity is structured around the idea that punishment by death can set things right.

For two hundred years, opponents of the death penalty have worked to reduce the number of capital offenses and the cruelty of execution methods or to advance philosophical and practical reasons for abolishing state-sanctioned killing altogether. Some of this opposition has been lead by devoutly religious people, and it has shifted thinking in a wide variety of cultures. Over 100 countries have abolished the death penalty.

Intolerance of other religions – In order to recruit and retain members, religions often make exclusive truth claims and promise exclusive rewards. Many also threaten those who fail to join or who choose to leave with punishments in this life or the next. Islam’s prescription of death for apostates is just an extreme version of this broader dynamic.

Inquisitions and holy wars have been seen by past generations as righteous because they compelled people to live according to the one right law. Even short of bloodshed, religious teachings can be profoundly divisive. Calvinist Christianity teaches that human beings are “utterly depraved” and can be redeemed only by accepting the crucifixion of Jesus as a personally-transforming gift. Believers learn to mistrust others, who by definition lack any basis for morality.

But this one-way mentality doesn’t seem as righteous to many as it once did. Today, when faith is compelled through holy war and purges—as under the Taliban or ISIS–most people are morally appalled, and people increasingly see religious tolerance as a virtue rather than the vice our ancestors believed it to be.

– – – – –

Some people believe that the moral rules handed down by our ancestors came from a supernatural deity and should not be questioned or changed. The gods know best, and even if their rules may not entirely make sense, ours is not to question why. In the Evangelical community where I grew up, people sometimes tried to find practical explanations for biblical rules. But when that failed, “because the Bible says so” was reason enough.

By contrast, secular ethics teach that the timeless part of morality is not the rules themselves, nor the authority of the rule-giver, but rather an underlying principle. Morality, in this view, seeks to promote the wellbeing of sentient beings, especially human beings but also other animals. Actions that reduce suffering and harm or increase wellbeing are moral. To maximize wellbeing, rules have to change, because what promotes thriving in one situation may cause harm in another...”

https://valerietarico.com/2018/07/22/when-religious-teachings-become-immoral/

Valerie Tarico is a psychologist and writer in Seattle, Washington.

#atheist #agnostic #secular humanist #skeptic #Religion #Christianity #religious insanity

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beefstatic · 6 years

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"Really? Do I look stupid" + serirei?

this is… probably not what you’re hoping for… ;n;

send me five word prompts ayy

Serizawa’s blood runs cold, watching as the man in front of him churns out lie after lie, trying to cover his ass for god-knows-what-reason. His blood runs cold, the iciest it’s ever been, dread freezing over in his gut like some sort of sickness. No, no, this can’t be right. Reigen… he’d never lie to him, he’d never be that person, he’d never. Right? God. He wants to believe him. He wants to believe him with all his heart, but his heart has willingly believed lies for so long, he just can’t keep that up anymore.

He can see it, his lies, in the way he unravels, the way his eyes stick to his, overcompensating for his insecurity. If only he’d stop talking, stop spewing forth blatant falsehoods.

And now… looking back… so many lies have crossed his fool’s gold tongue, too many to count, too many to just ignore. He can’t turn a blind eye to this anymore. He needs to know the truth.

“Stop.”

“No, no, listen, Serizawa– everything’s fine. That paperwork, it– it means nothing! It’s the wrong paperwork, I’ve got enough money, okay, it’s fine, trust me–”

“Really?” He interrupts, standing up from the table, startling Reigen. “Do I look stupid?”

Reigen’s brows furrow, alarm hidden behind his eyes. “What? What, no– no, no-no-no-no-no, of course not–”

“I said stop. You’re not fooling anyone, Reigen. The numbers don’t lie.” He can’t help the sneer that comes across his face. “Unlike you.”

Now, that absolutely defeats Reigen, mouth agape. He stares up at Serizawa and even though it hurts to hear his own voice, Serizawa continues, leaning on the table.

“Just how long have you been lying to me? To us?”

“I– Kats… this isn’t–”

“This isn’t a lot of things, Reigen. Tell me what it is.”

The other man’s face switches through so many emotions like some dreaded slot machine, too many for a simple answer, until he lands on something stoney, something defensive, something hard. He stands up to meet Serizawa’s aggression, a foothold for some sort of advantage. Serizawa doesn’t budge.

“What it is, is nothing, Serizawa. It’s. Nothing. The money is a non-issue. I’ve gotten us through this before and I can do it again, okay? Trust me.”

Now that, he lets out a dry laugh at. “‘Trust you?’ How on earth can I trust you? You have lied and lied and lied your ass into whatever mess this is– you can’t even tell me.” He trains his breathing, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please, please… I want to trust you, Reigen. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing!” His yell sounds like a gunshot in Serizawa’s small apartment. It might as well have been a bullet, ripping through his chest, taking Serizawa off guard– he feels lightheaded and just plain wrong. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Just let it go.”

A long silence follows, neither of them looking at the other, but at the floor, both knowing full well that Reigen is out of place, out of his element, out of moral high ground. Out of lies.

Serizawa’s breath is more shallow than he thinks is healthy, his hands white-knuckled around his arms. Why? He wants to know why more than anything else. Why Reigen won’t tell him what’s wrong. Why he keeps lying. Is he in danger? Is he hiding something terrible? What is it? What could it possibly be? Why can’t he just tell him? The questions begin to erode away the longer the silence stretches, leaving only a hardened heart, a lump of stone. He looks down at Reigen, his face soured and eyes far from dry.

“You know what. Fine. I don’t need to know.” He says with a calm darkness in his voice, fingernails digging into the skin on his arms. Reigen looks up, taken aback, their eyes meeting. Serizawa inhales, shaky. “If you refuse to take me seriously, to give me the respect I deserve… to even try to make this, us, work… ” He screws his eyes shut tight. “You might as well just leave. I don’t need this in my life. Not again.”

And oh, god, the noise Reigen makes at that. It’s a crucifixion for the both of them, a final nail in the coffin.

“No, no, wait… K-Katsuya, no–” he trails off into some sort of babbling spiel, something to convince Serizawa otherwise. It’s pathetic, really. Both his pointless efforts and how much it hurts Serizawa to see him like this. He loves him, he does… but he can’t trust him, not enough to know he loves him back. Not enough to know he truly respects him.

“Do you really think so little of me?” He asks, the rhetoric lost on a frantic, desperate, clinging Reigen. “Get out of my apartment.”

“Katsu–”

“Get. Out.” He has to physically pry the man’s hands off of him. There are tears dripping down both of their faces, but Serizawa’s are a dry kind of anger, accompanied by a sadness that comes with loss and grief and realization. Reigen reaches out, a hand circling his wrist– he yanks his arm free of his grasp. “Get. Out.”

Painstaking minutes later, and Reigen leaves.

He leaves and Serizawa can breathe again, only to feel as if he’s drowning in his heartache, crumbling to the floor in tears. He feels the weakest he’s ever been, but he knows he had to do this. He had to or else the cycle would continue on and on and on until he died of being lied to. Reigen wouldn’t want that for him. He’d… he’d come to understand.

This is the best possible option, for the both of them.

Whether they like it or not.

#:(#serirei #kinda #mp100 #my writing #ask beth #angst

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