#quotes are also from the script ^__^

[cynicell]

( ˙꒳˙ )  ◐ im very normal and fine about him

[anf5]

"there are 600 tornadoes every year, and they destroy a lot. mostly here in the farmbelt. i grew up here, and i can tell you -- when you see a farm destroyed, you see a poor family lose everything..."

stimboard 7: TWISTER (1996)

🌪️ : ⛈️ : 🛣️

🛣️ : 🌪️ : ⛈️

⛈️ : 🛣️ : 🌪️

[itsnobodysproblem]

The Norwood Builder - Part 4

(live reactions)

I'm so excited guys I think I figured out what's next

Damn. Hostages. Right. At least he didn't try to shoot them.

"You want to beat up my corpse should Hector shoot me?"

"I’m keeping my options open."

............

[He broke his finger] in two places??

Oh ok yeyy they're out of danger!

(Just.. the whole scene with them exiting the museum)

Joel why would you do that to them...

Sherlock what are you singing

"Sherls" <3

"Peal and reseal" great metaphor John

John and Mariana fighting over who knows Sherlock's brain better <3

Dammit they didn't charge the hiding spot my theory was wrong

"Pleeeeeeasee🥺"

Yess Lestrade is on board too

"Yes, I know who you are" :)

M: "And you made a request to us as well. This- we’re Sherlock and Co."

V: "Like London buses?"

*Everyone laughing*

S: "Yes! I get it!"

I don't get it..

Spiral is not a symbol in this one spiral is not a symbol in this one spiral is not a symbol in this one

He's in the church?? Ok yeah couldn't have guessed that.

[Sherlock synchronizing his singing with the clock striking one and Jonas running]

What a drama queen...

"A little piece of evidence, to take into account."

That was so slayy

I forgot about shoutouts huh.

Why are they at the very end tho....

Suspicious....

Ok nvm

[Mariana and Sherlock arguing]

It's about the mouse isn't it

"Graham"...

So are they like. Keeping the mouse?

[sonicranger1]

Can't believe i'm forced to say this again but alas- (<- No one is forcing me to do this)

BESTIES! ERROR AND NIGHTMARE AREN'T CANON TO INK! DREAM IS NOT CANON TO INK!

The only one that could possibly be canon to Ink is Swap if we take into consideration the canceled comic Comyet did a long while back! And the art Comyet has done with Ink and Error I'm 99% sure is just a what-if, not canon interpretation on how they think they possibly would interact together

Everytime I see someone with their full chest exclaim how the dream twins or Error are canon to ink I internally die inside I'm sorry

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

so

we went to a movie (the red one)

we don’t know anything about the production, but just off the movie itself, we would recommend it

it has j.k. simmons as santa. ford pines as santa. your favorite. your FAVORITE

ford would love the reindeer, ford loved the reindeer, we all loved the reindeer

includes a lot of folklore in it, which is!!! so cool!!! you got krampus and hellhounds and gryla and AGGGHHHH that element was so cool!!!

we loved the reindeer, you’d love the reindeer, you will love the reindeer, they are your favorite part of the movie and you haven’t even seen it yet, you love the reindeer

[saints-who-never-existed]

Reading the Episode Ten script again, mainly because I had it open the other day to double-check a specific quote, and there are so many wee things that are jumping out at me all over again.

The religious connotations of Goodsir's feet being the only "clean" part of him!

The fact that Crozier manages to signal to Hodgson and Diggle specifically not to eat their own portions of Goodsir while he's eating his!

This little quote: "Circuits are frying in Crozier's head but he continues to do this unthinkable thing with blind belief in a perfectly-named man called 'Goodsir'".

And finally, something that I'm only now realising I've not thought in depth about before - the fact that Tozer is the only one we see being actively betrayed and bonked on the noggin! We don't know how the others ended up in chains, in all fairness. We don't know if they were bonked too, if they fought back, or if they went quietly, albeit likely at gunpoint. The fact that his coercion is the only one shown says something incredible about Tozer's power and about how Hickey views him at that point in time, I think. He's clearly aware, if not outright scared, of what Tozer is capable of, how unpredictable he could be, how rapidly he's coming to his senses and escaping Hickey's control. He's painfully aware of the fact that he can't let that happen, not now. Like, they could've just held a gun to his face! Lord knows they have enough guns and loyal, desperate men to wield them! But the merest idea that even that wouldn't be enough to coerce him is just making me lose my goddamn mind! The idea that you could hold a gun to Solomon Tozer's handsome goddamn face at that point and it still wouldn't be enough to get him to do something he doesn't want to do...!

[transannabeth]

omg are you finally shooting that endless video about the selection

not yet!! i'm still working on my reread and notes, actually, it is taking me a long time because i am very busy :")

but the goal is to get that out this year (please hold me accountable for that)

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

anna or lily going into a convent (and being in america) and carlo can use that as a reputation boost hhhhhhhh

[cobra-wives]

is this... is this a reference to linkin park???

[aparticularbandit]

Miu: WHAT IF RANTARO'S CORPSE MOVED ON ITS OWN????

Tsumugi: Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear....

[agathabridgerton]

I love you, baby.

[songofwizardry]

i stumbled across a Rumi quatrain on tumblr today and it reminded me to go looking for my favourites, so here's a few, all taken from Kulliyat-e Shams-e Tabrizi, with the caveat that i do not speak Farsi and I have read them all as translations only. more notes on translation at the end, but all of these are translated by Zara Houshmand, and taken from the archives of The Iranian.

#1771

#57

#1584

#1316

and the note on translation: these are of course not the Coleman Barks translations, the most popular English translations. i think the orientalism and... de-Sufi-fying and de-Muslim-ifying of the Barks translations and a lot of English-language and Western perception of Rumi is much more discussed now (Jawid Mojaddedi, who is writing a translation of Rumi's multi-volume Masnavi, says, "The Rumi that people love is very beautiful in English, and the price you pay is to cut the culture and religion.") if you're interested, Persian Poetics has a great twitter thread about it and their website has text, audio, and video resources where they've talked about it. and this article from Ajam Media is a short read and an interesting comparison of a few different translations.

if you enjoy Zara Houshmand's translations, she has a book of translations of Rumi's quatrains, Moon and Sun. there's many translations of Rumi's works not by Barks, that prioritise different things: you can 100% find a translation that isn't Barks, and Rumi's work is. so beautiful and so much better when you are not reading whatever uhhh... interpretation Barks came up with.

[studyinglogic]

That time shall be the time of great peace, perhaps even a 太平, for the word YARZG will appear, but in that peace will be sown the seeds of disorder as surely as wood grows from water and yang grows from yin. These seeds will be both obvious and subtle as the ways of the unseen one, which permeate all yet are touched by none.

I.

The first of these seeds, the first to appear, the first which shall usher in the caturyuga, shall be the use of words of more than five letters. This use will at first be tentative, for at first all will be believe the limit of five letters to be sacred, but the wielding of SONDER against JOROL and the strength of the emotion thereof shall prove decisive.

Ruin shall come quickly to that age; word will contend against word, and people will soon realise that to limit themselves to that frame is to invite their own destruction. What clashes here of wills gen wonts, oystrygods gaggin fishy-gods! Brékkek Kékkek Kékkek Kékkek! Kóax Kóax Kóax! Ualu Ualu Ualu! Quaouauh! And so this shall be the age of unbinding.

II.

The second seed, the second to appear, that which will herald the second age of the चतुर्युग, shall be the use of words from other languages. All shall be overthrown, and the cult of Sapir-Whorf will rise from the ashes. This shall be an age of great instability as well as an age of great invention, for the field will be wide open as to how quickly words can be pronounced as well as how they can be written.

Abjad will rise against abugida; axe will hew axe. The chanters will meditate for inner peace and outer violence, developing the diaphragm in order to utter words in as few breaths as possible. The masters of seal and script will inscribe words on bones and bury them so that the words, when encountered, will explode into consciousness.

The refrainers will wear blindfolds, ceasing their sightfulness and stopping their hearfulness so that they do not encounter words, vainly attempting to leave the conflict. But this will not be possible, for awareness is not the same as escape, much less unawareness; tlalticpac is slippery, slick, and people will fall into evil as they slip in the mud. And this age will last a long time.

III.

The third seed, the third to appear, that which will herald the third age, will be the rise of the philologists, the lexicologists, the dictionary makers, the phonologists---those who keep their head and eyes downward, those interested in roots and beginnings.

Even as they stay trapped within their age they will attempt to analyse it; they will try to order the grammar of the world. For them, there is no deformity but in Monstrosity; wherein, notwithstanding, there is a kind of Beauty, Nature so ingeniously contriving the irregular parts, as they become sometimes more remarkable than the principal Fabrick.

Punctuation will be debated; words will be defined. They will look at their time and debate if they live in the degenerate age, if they are in the 末法, or if in fact they have looped all the way round to the 正法. The wise will contend over whether the कलियुग is equivalent to the 末法; reaching no consensus, they will pronounce themselves foolish.

They will search for the hidden structures, the first principles behind words. They will discuss whether true harmony comes from ἁρμός, a joint, or if it comes from 和, the concatenation of grain and a mouth. Order will not only be restored: it will proliferate, so that there are many orders, and none will know which is whole and which is partial. Those caught in this whirlpool will forget years, forget justice, be stimulated by the limitless, and thus remain in the limitless.

IV.

And then will come the sprouting of the fourth seed, the fourth to appear. The roots of this age will be sown in the one before it, in the call to first principles over the parochialism of the local. Everything will change when the mathematicians attack. But that is another tale for a another time, to be told by someone of greater worthynesse than I. Hwæt!

Wordle is running out of words. Only 2,000 five letter words remain. When that supply is exhausted the Creation shall begin. One day the word will be ZHURM, and all shall get it, and all shall understand it to mean "an ache from suddenly remembering a long-ago friend, who meant something to you once, but whose face you can no longer conjure". The next day the word shall be JOROL, and all will get it, and all will know it means "the melancholy confusion of passing by somewhere where you once could have died". The next day it will be GREFT, and all will understand it to be a small brown bird with white streaks found only in South America, and suddenly, it will appear, in the underbrush of the Amazon, in the streets of São Paulo, and all will know that it once was not there, but now, will always be

[always-undermining]

ya lo último sobre el tema que no más a mi me importa KSKSKSKS

[joycrispy]

One thing I love about Crowley --never stated, but consistently shown-- is that he is, at heart, an engineer.

I have a few different things to say about that. Let's unpack them.

As the Unnamed Angel, we see his designs for the Pillars of Creation are millions of pages long, comprised of cramped text, footnotes, diagrams, schematics, etc. It's very...Renaissance polymath, in the way it implies a particular intersection of artist and inventor.

Also: in the naked romanticism with which he views his stars.

We already knew he made stars, but in s2 we learn that he did NOT sculpt each of them by hand. He designed a nebula ("a star factory," he says) that will form several thousand young stars and proto-planets, and all --aside from getting the 'factory' running-- without him lifting a finger. We also learn that these young stars and proto-planets stand in contrast to those made by other angels, which are going to come 'pre-aged.'

...I'm reminded of Hastur and Ligur's approach to temptations. Damning one human soul at a time, devoting singular attention to it over the course of years or decades, and how that stands in contrast to Crowley's reliance on, quote, 'knock-on effects.'

Ligur: It's not exactly...craftsmanship. Crowley: Head office don't seem to mind. They love me down there.

Hm.

I'm also reminded of the M25.

The M25 may not be as grand as a nebula (sentences you only say in GOmens fandom...), but LIKE his nebula it's an intricate, self-sustaining engine that does Crowley's work for him, many times over. Again.

That's some pretty neat characterization --and so is the indication towards Crowley's disinterest in victimizing anyone tempting individual people. It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort (and creeping about in wellies), but in accordance with his design the M25 generates a constant stream of low-grade evil on a gigantic scale.

Cumulatively gigantic, that is. Individually? Negligible.

But no other demon understands human nature well enough to parse that one million ticked-off motorists are not, in any meaningful way, actually equivalent to one dictator, or one mass-murderer, or even one little influential regressive. That's the trick of it. Crowley gets Hell's approval (which he NEEDS to survive, and to maintain the degree of freedom he's eked out for himself), and at the same time ensures that any actual ~Evil Influence~ is spread nice and thin.

It's some clever machinery. And he knows it, too:

The Unnamed Angel and Crowley are both proud of their ideas.

(musings on professional pride, Leonardo da Vinci, the crank handle, and 'the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale' under the cut)

In the 1970's Crowley gives a presentation on the M25, projector and all, to a room full of increasingly impatient demons. Maybe the presentation was work-ordered; the 'can I hear a WAHOO?' definitely wasn't.

Before the Beginning, the Unnamed Angel can barely contain his excitement about his nebula. Aziraphale manages a baffled-but-polite, "....That's nice... :)"

11 years ago, Hastur and Ligur want to 'tell the deeds of the day,' and Crowley smiles to himself because (according to the script-book) he knows he has 'the best one.'

(Naturally, his 'deed' has nothing to do with tempting anybody, and everything to do with setting up a human-powered Rube-Goldberg machine of petty annoyance. Oodles of 'Evil' generated; very little harm done.)

Hastur and Ligur don't get it, of course. That's also consistent.

Nobody ever knows what the hell he's talking about.

It didn't make it on-screen, but, in both the novel AND the script-book, Crowley was friends with Leonardo da Vinci. The quintessential Renaissance polymath. That's where he got his drawing of the Mona Lisa --they're getting very drunk together, and Crowley picks up the 'most beautiful' of the preliminary sketches. He wants to buy it. Leonardo agrees almost off-the-cuff, very casual, because they're friends, and because he has bigger fish to fry than haggling over a doodle:

He goes, "Now, explain this helicopter thingie again, will you?" Because he's an engineer, too.

(It is 1519 at the latest, in this scene. Why the FUCK would Crowley know about helicopters, and be able to explain them, comprehensively, to Leonardo da Vinci?

...Well. I choose to believe he got bored one day and worked it out. Look, if you know how to build a nebula, you can probably handle aerodynamics. And anyway, I think it's telling that this is his idea of shooting the shit. 'A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,' and all. He probably babbled about Aziraphale long enough to make poor Leo sick)

Apart from Aziraphale, Leonardo da Vinci is the only person Crowley has any keepsakes or mementos of.

Think about that, though. Aziraphale's bookshop is bursting with letters, paintings, busts, and personalized signatures memorializing all the humans he's known and befriended over 6000 years (indeed: Aziraphale has living human friends up and down Whickber Street. He's part of a community).

Crowley doesn't have any of that. It's just the stone albatross from the Church (for pining), the infamous gay sex statue (for spicy pining), the houseplants (for roleplaying his deepest trauma over and over, as one does), and this one piece of artwork, inscribed, "To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V."

To me, at least, that suggests a level of attachment that seems to be rare for Crowley.

...Maybe he liked having someone to talk shop with? Someone who was interested? Someone engaged enough to ask questions when they didn't immediately understand?

...Anyway.

There's also the matter of the crank handle.

This thing:

This is one of the subtler changes from the book. In the book, Crowley knows Satan is coming and, desperate, arms himself with a tire iron. It's the best he can do. He's not Aziraphale; he wasn't made to wield a flaming sword.

The show, IMO, improves on this considerably. Now he, like Aziraphale, gets to face annihilation with what he was made for in his hand. And it's not a weapon, not even an improvised one like the tire iron.

He made stars with it.

[both gifs by @fuckyeahgoodomens]

If you Google 'crank handle,' you'll get variations on this:

Crank handles have been around for centuries. Consisting of a mechanical arm that's connected to a perpendicular rotating shaft, they are designed to convert circular motion into rotary or reciprocating motion.

Which is to say they're one of the 'simple machines,' like a lever or a pulley; the bread and butter of engineering. You'll also get a list of uses for a crank handle, archaic and modern. Among them: cranking up the engine of an old-fashioned car... say, a 1933 Bentley. That's what Crowley has been using his for, lately. But he's had it since he was an angel and he's still, it seems, very capable of it's angelic applications.

Stopping time. For instance.

(This is conjecture on my part, but, I like to imagine that Crowley has the ability to stop time for the same reason I can --and should-- unplug my computer before I perform maintenance on it. Time and Space are a matched set, after all, and in his designs in particular, one feeds into the other.)

I know everyone has already said this, but: I REALLY LIKE that when he needs to channel the heights of his power, he does so not with a weapon but with a tool. Practically with a little handheld metaphor for ingenuity. One from long-lost days when he made beautiful things.

(And he loved it. Still loves it --he incorporated that metaphor into the Bentley, didn't he?)

Let Aziraphale rock up to the apocalypse with a weapon: he has his own compelling thematic reasons to do exactly that. Crowley's story is different, and fighting isn't the only way to express defiance. And if you've been condemned as a demon and assumed to be destructive by your very nature, what better way than this?

He made stars. They didn't manage to take that from him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are fighters, really --they have no intention of fighting in any war. They'll annoy everyone until there's no war to fight in, for a start. But between the two, if one must be, then that one is Aziraphale. Principality of the Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of the Flaming Sword... all that stuff. Even if he'd prefer not to, it's very clear that Aziraphale can rise to the occasion, if he must.

Crowley was never that kind of angel. He wasn't a Principality. He doesn't have a sword.

...And yet.

It's Crowley who protects. He's the one who paces, who stands guard, who circles Aziraphale and glares out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near.

In light of everything else I've said here, I think that's interesting.

Obviously part of it is that Aziraphale enjoys it and, you know, good for him. He's living his best life, no doubt no doubt no doubt. But what about Crowley? What's driving that behavior, really?

Have you heard the phrase, 'loved to the point of invention'? Well, what if 'the point of invention' was where you started? What if where you end up involves glaring out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near? What is that, in relation to the bright-eyed thing you used to be?

What do we name the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale?

...Thinking about how an excitable angel with three million pages of star design he wants to tell you all about...becomes a guard dog. Is all.

[valeisaslut]

thinking about collide ellie and reader on snl…

NO BECAUSE I 100% thought of writing Ellie and reader on SNL but there was already SO much happening in the fic that I was like okay Val. breathe. you do NOT need to write an entire season of sketch comedy in the middle of your lesbian slow burn.

BUT IN MY HEART (and in the AU) THEY WENT. They 100% went.

SO, FOR MY NATION: ROCKSTAR!ELLIE X POPSTAR!READER ON SNL.

The episode aired like two weeks after the Grammys, and the SNL writers were frothing at the mouth to recreate the chaos. So obviously, you and Ellie did a full sketch reenacting the Grammy moment—THE “nah. you look too fucking hot right now.” THE “i love you.” The pause that followed. Beat for beat. There was dramatic slow motion. Ellie fake-mic-dropped. You dramatically collapsed to the floor like you’d been shot. The audience BLACKED OUT.

BUT WAIT. There was also that cursed SNL music sketch where you're both singers from different planets. You were a glittery Y2K alien who only sang in autotuned adlibs. Ellie was a country cowboy who doesn’t believe in music unless it’s played on a busted banjo. It made ZERO sense and somehow ended with an animatronic horse doing the dougie. At one point, Ellie LASSOED you and made a kinky joke that wasn't in the script at all. Twitter hasn’t recovered.

Weekend Update?? A disaster. You showed up, said four words, and went “ok i’m too hot for this” and just left. Ellie stayed behind and gave a fake PSA about “dating your popstar girlfriend responsibly” and how you should “not accidentally make out on live TV unless it’s for the bit.” It got 70 million views.

AND THEN. THEN. The cheerleader skit. You and Ellie were rival high school cheer captains. Seeing Ellie’s masc ass in a cheer uniform nearly ended humanity. She was PISSED about it but after shooting she begged the costume department to let her keep it. The skit escalated immediately—normal flips turned into Ellie back handspringing off the desk, you pulled a megaphone from thin air and screamed “L FOR LESBIAN.” A marching band materialized out of nowhere playing She. And then, inexplicably, it ended with the two of you slow-dancing in cheer uniforms under falling confetti while Pedro Pascal (as the school principal) screamed “THIS IS A SCHOOL ASSEMBLY.”

OKAY BUT YOU’RE NOT EVEN READY FOR THE "LESBIAN QUIET LUXURY" SKIT. Like. You and Ellie played these absolutely feral rich girls who inherited old money from their great-great-grandmothers (who were, quote, “roommates”), and now live in a haunted countryside manor in Vermont where they “just do pottery, collect oil paintings of women with secrets, and make eye contact with ghosts.”

It was shot like a Vogue mini-doc. You wore a floor-length linen nightgown, held a glass of wine, and whispered “I only speak in lowercase now. Capital letters are performative.” Ellie was doing an interview in a library and said, completely straight-faced, “we don’t have a television, we just recite Sappho to each other while our oat milk steams.”

Then it CUT to you two at a farmers market arguing with an old man about whether figs have feminine energy. Ellie was like “you don’t get it. figs are bisexual.” And the old man just left. He walked off the set. That wasn’t scripted.

The sketch ended with both of you holding a single candle, standing barefoot in a field at dusk, and solemnly saying “quiet luxury is loving your partner so hard it echoes through generations.” And then you made out behind a hedge while a harpist played Phoebe Bridgers.

That sketch is on every sapphic aesthetic moodboard.

The cast was breaking so bad the cameras were shaking. Cecily Strong had to walk off set. It was the exact brand of unhinged chaotic lesbian television we DESERVE.

Anyway yeah. You were on SNL. Sorry for not writing it in the fic. I might still. Don’t tempt me.